72 AUTUMN NOTES IN IOWA 



for native sons. Under the small wooden bridges 

 over creeks and sloughs the plioebe builds year 

 after year, sheltering often the cowbird's young 

 with her own. From the rough planks one may 

 look down in winter on sheets of slaty ice, white- 

 edged, or brown weed stalks bending under snow 

 or encased in shining frozen rain. The long, high- 

 roofed inland river bridge often has quite a charm, 

 especially when approached b}^ a woodland road 

 suddenly turning to cross the stream. The horses' 

 hoofs ring loudly on the heavy flooring. Perhaps 

 some stroller stands leaning over the railing, gaz- 

 ing at dark waters, peering into pools where the 

 catfish famous over a county may be lurking — 

 sometimes seen, never yet a captive. An old row- 

 boat may be moored by the dense shrubbery along 

 the bank. At night one drives cautiously toward 

 such a bridge, listening for other approaching 

 teams ; gazing off, perhaps, far down stream hop- 

 ing to catch a gleam from the light in the home 

 farmhouse. In times of great freshets the lesser 

 bridges are frequently swept bodily from their 

 moorings, and landed in a neighboring cornfield; 

 while against the end supports of the larger struc- 

 tures great masses of drift are lodged, and the 

 waters beneath are angry with swift current and 

 foamy whirlpool, dark with soils stolen from the 

 crumbling banks, and rising till they threaten to 

 flood the floor. 



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