Five mornings a week I leave home before 7:00, I usually approach the Frederick Malkus Bridge five minutes later. Some months I watch the sun rise over the Choptank and it is a breathtaking, golden gift. Lately, the sun rises early, 6:00 ish, so I miss that, but the Choptank is still always breathtaking. One morning in March, the River was a “down comforter” of fog that made me think of Carl Sandburg’s poem: “The fog comes in on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.” Some mornings, the river is so choppy that I imagine that the waves are aggressive animals punching and beating the water. Other mornings, the river looks like polished glass. I whisper a thank you for its calming beauty as I drive across the Choptank. I feel it’s centering energy as I head to work, teaching five and six year olds.
Thursday morning, I saw the break lights of a semi-truck and some cars and knew that an accident had happened right in front of me. Traffic was paralyzed for an hour, I watched ambulances, State Police, fire trucks, and other emergency vehicles fly by. A helicopter hovered then landed beyond my view. After the helicopter took off, Police officers began moving those of us stuck on the bridge. I was informed by a very polite officer that I was expected to back up and exit the bridge. It was a huge relief to be driving again.
The detour through East New Market and Preston was a bumper-to-bumper nightmare. For two and a half hours it was stop and go, my maximum speed was six miles per hour. Thankfully, the rural drive provided charm and beauty with its green, springtime farms and cool breeze. I tuned to Country Radio and sang along with Garth, Johnny, Willie, and Crystal. The left turn on the “T” at Preston Ford took an hour and a half. It was reassuring to approach the Choptank River once again, this time upriver, crossing on the Dover Bridge.
As the end of the school day approached I suddenly realized that the bridge could still be closed, the thought of another detour was almost too much to handle, mentally. The police officer that directed my way off of the bridge in the morning had warned that it would take hours to reconstruct the accident scene then clear the debris. I hadn’t had time all day to think about it, which was good, my students have 100% of my attention when I’m with them. I hadn’t really processed how traumatic it all was and I felt selfish for complaining about the inconvenience that the accident caused me. I was relieved to learn that the two injured drivers were in stable condition. I texted my son who lives and works in Cambridge, he quickly responded with an all clear-both lanes are open.
Driving home was as if I was seeing Route 50 with new eyes. I was happy to see each of the homeward-bound landmarks. Hole in the Wall, Paris Foods’ igloo, High’s, and finally the Malkus Bridge. I felt a sigh of relief as I approached the eastbound span. The Choptank River is home to me, welcoming like a mother’s arms waiting for a hug. Returning to Cambridge, I’m always thankful for such a beautiful body of water that is such an important part of my life.
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