Peace and History in a Covered Bridge

Spanning Generations

The story of the arson and rebuilding of the Corbin Covered Bridge is well known. The efforts spearheaded by a few and made a reality by the community of Newport resonated throughout New England making a statement worthy of national recognition.

The Corbin Covered Bridge, built around 1835 and named for the illustrious Corbin family, was the sole survivor of Newport’s six highway covered bridges. It spanned the Sugar River. For approximately 158 years. The Corbin Covered Bridge was destroyed by arson on May the 25^th, 1993. Six months later, a special town meeting was held to determine whether or not the bridge should be replaced with state funding as a modern style bridge or to be replicated, as the original Corbin Covered Bridge was with the townspeople covering the costs that insurance did not. The townspeople voted on rebuilding and Arnold Graton Associates was hired to rebuild the Corbin Covered Bridge in 1994.

Through the help of David Wright, president of the National Society for the Preservation of Covered Bridges, townspeople found Master Bridgewright Arnold Graton of Graton Associates in Ashland, New Hampshire. Arnold was recognized nationally as a preeminent Craftsman of wooden covered bridges and is said to be America’s only builder of authentic covered bridges today.  Arnold began building wooden bridges with his father, Milton, in the 1950s. Milton passed away in his late 80s, about the same time as Arnold was working on the Corbin Bridge.

A communities’ success story was at hand. It is the bridgewright’s policy to accept any volunteer help from the people of the community where they are working. As a result, many locals have a personal relationship with the bridge. The destruction of the bridge and the collective joy of over 9,000 people watching the bridge creep over the river some 18 months later inspired photographers, journalists and writers. 

One of those writers is Ann St. Martin Stout. A Trustee of the Newport Historical Society and a well-loved member of many communities that make up our Town of Newport.   

Peace and History in a Covered Bridge
(From the October 1994 issue of Soo-Nipi Magazine)

By Ann St. Martin Stout

I wish I could walk through the old covered bridge just one more time. I think I will, but this time in my mind only. I Invite you to come with me.

As I approach the bridge through the stately white pines, I sense that these aged trees are forming a pathway that invites me into this structure from another time. I tread the gentle incline of pavement which leads me into a place that feels like another world.

Immediately the scent of wood envelopes me. It is, of course, not the scent of new wood, freshly planed and sawed, but rather the gentle, pleasant smell of the past. It is not sharp to the senses, but reassuring like the familiar scent of an old shed. It is mixed with a slight smell of oil, a reminder of the many cars that have traveled through, but yet it retains the taste of the past, when cars were but an element of a man’s imagination.

The floorboards, uneven and stained with age and oil, are worn smooth in places. The passing of many tires, and before that, many hooves and wagon wheels.

The aura within the bridge is dim, nearly to the point of dark, even on a bright summer’s day. It is a cool and secure feeling one gets standing in its breadth. Through the cracks in the wall come rays of bright sunlight, finding their places on the floorboards, highlighting those flaws which, day after day, are little noticed by those who pass quickly through. The air is still, but not stagnant. It is cool in a welcoming sort of way.

A glance to the other end of the bridge overwhelms my eyes with sunlight, I quickly rest my eyes in the shadow once again.

The silence, too, is peaceful. All is quiet until I make a sound. A rich echo resonates through the structure, briefly surrounding me…then silence again. I think of the times driving through the bridge as a child, then with children of my own, tooting the car horn, thrilled to hear it multiplied in volume-a silly tradition? Perhaps, but still, a cherished memory.

I’m nearly to the other side of the bridge now, approaching the sloping grade that leads to yet another stately row of white pines. I can see the white board fence, standing guard between the road and the overgrown embankment leading down to the river. Again, my memories are stirred of the times I have fished with my children along these banks. We never caught any of the brown trout reported to be there, but I recall the sights and sounds that did catch our imagination. The thunderous rumble of cars traversing the bridge while we cast our lines beneath. The uneven and sometimes loose boards rising from their resting places and settling noisily into place again. The sound was so loud I thought we were in danger, and all the while this bridge from another age held its own in strength and dignity.

I have come to the end of the bridge now, and I step back into a world that is not as peaceful as the one as I have just left. I am back to a world where old and cherished bridges are sometimes burned. To a world where I cried for a day when I heard that our bridge had burned. It didn’t make sense to me that someone could burn history and deprive our children what is rightfully theirs. The new bridge will be built soon, a labor of love by many who cherish our history. A labor of dedication by all who took the time to attend a New England-style town meeting and who voted to rebuild a New England-style covered bridge. It is the wish for our children to share in the past and a pledge to ourselves that we cannot be put down by misfortune from the hands of others.

The new Corbin Bridge cannot be the old Corbin Bridge, but in another hundred years, as the water flows under it, cars go through it and fish swim beneath it, our ancestors will have a record of our dedication to what is right and good and true in our history.