But about the bridge. I want it--or one like it--for our backyard. Our property fronts the North River near Augusta, West Virginia. I often envision one of these old bridges there, spanning the swift, clear little river. The owner of the wilderness on the other side will, of course, have granted us an easement just because he likes old bridges, too. (Whoever he or she is).

Recently, though, I found one of these bridges abandoned in some woods and the pipe dream of connecting the two backyard shores was thus rekindled. The intersection of Watson and Evergreen Mills roads near Leesburg, Virginia occurs at one end of the bridge over Goose Creek. The bridge is a heavy-duty concrete and steel structure built in 1973, when we still built some character into such structures. The old iron bridge that it replaces is a short distance away near what appears to be a popular party spot. It's pretty badly bent up, as if an attempt had been made to bury it with the biggest dozer this side of a strip mine. Still, I would torch it apart, invent a colossal hydraulic straightening machine through which I would run the pieces, then haul them home and weld the bridge together at my site. Of course, I'll never really do it; not outside of my imagination, anyway.

It's fun to discuss these plans with other "historians" of old iron things. Believe it or not, practical and valid ideas can surface from such discussions for use in other worthy fields of endeavor such as space travel and restoring sunken ocean liners.

I expounded on my find to one expert on this broad subject who was a few decades my senior. He related the prewar years (that would be World War II) prior to the wartime scrap metal drives when even Bugs and Daffy called a truce long enough to remind us to gather up any unused metal objects and bring them to a collection point.

From there, they would enter our factories and emerge as shells, torpedoes, ships and planes. Prior to the scrap drives, the prewar fencerows held treasures from the twentieth, nineteenth and even eighteenth centuries. He went on to tell how these machines blended into the landscape, even becoming landMARKS. I personally recall a local old-timer, the late Cleat Whitacre giving directions; "We used to say 'turn in by the old corn popper' but it got hauled away during the war."

It's still not clear to me just what the "corn popper" actually was. Perhaps it was the remnant of an old steam or kerosene engine used to turn one of the many mills that once thrived in that part of Hampshire County, Vest Virginia.

I later examined some old familiar photos from my grandparent's farm in central New Jersey. The farm now lies beneath manicured lawns and neat asphalt lanes with woodsy names but many of my memories are clear. I peered deep into the photos of the prewar and wartime eras, past the youthful figures-some in uniform- and examined the hedges and fencerows. The people in the photos almost always appeared tall-this is because a camera popular at the time had it's view finder on top making the photographer look down into the camera. This had such a disorienting effect that after a few drinks at a family gathering, one would have to settle on one knee when photographing in order to avoid falling over. In the faint background, though, several unfamiliar shapes mildly contrasted themselves from the then smaller but familiar growth. No one is left to ask about what these machines might be. One late uncle did mention something about a couple of strange two wheel tractors with concrete wheels that were fine when pulling but nose-dived when the engine was shut off. The Allis Chalmers WC, the New Holland "horsehead" baler and other implements were already a few years old when I came onto the scene.

What a delight it would be to have that old machinery back! Even pieces that could not be restored could yield parts for others. And what fun it would be-even if the machine never sees a wrench again- to examine it and imagine it being manufactured. The people involved, the antiquated processes. The steam powered lathes, milling machines, grinders and shapers turned by belts hanging from rotating shafts on the factory ceiling. The tall, wide multi-paned windows, tipped in for the breeze, letting in sunlight- light that you can really see to work in.

Imagine the high hopes for the machine- be it a tractor, stationary engine, hammermill or hayrake when it arrived at the farm. The farmwives and daughters coming out to look it over, the young boys suddenly serious, standing tall- maybe a little awed at the progress that the farm was making. Today, the relatively few pieces that remain are little less than time machines. If we're fortunate enough to examine these machines, or indeed to operate them, our minds are guided back to another time; a time that we may not remember but that the old machines make easy to imagine.

If the steam tractor that could have been available for restoration sank a Nazi battleship instead, one could argue that this was a good investment. That is, if it actually did.

According to one source, the scrap drives were more for the morale of the "vox pop" than a source of material. The scrap drives provided a practical, hands-on way that everyone could feel that they were assisting in the war effort. How much of the metal collected actually found it's way into action is anyone’s guess. It is also believed that equal or greater tonnage of military machines and other metal were recycled to meet the postwar demand for automobiles, structural steel and farm machinery. I personally don't believe that my 1951 John Deere M or my 1954 Chevrolet truck are made of anything other than virgin Yankee iron, but so the story goes.

We beat our plowshares into spears and back into plowshares again. Still, many of the old machines are gone forever, some examples of design and manufacture made extinct- our heritage in metal melted down in the crucibles of war.

Well, we can't bring the old iron back to the fencerows but we can help to keep our culture from being further eroded. On September 11 2001, our economy, as we know it, ended. This has resulted in difficulty for everyone, including artists; painters, sculptors, musicians, writers and so on who must now spend more time at their day jobs in order to care for families and in general, to try to make ends meet. Some have had to give up their art altogether.