A question of scale…

The other day I was driving to the home of a client who lives out in a very rural area, much more remote than where I live. I was enjoying the clear sky and sunshine, which was a huge improvement from the rain and sleet I encountered on my last trip to this location. Endless fields punctuated by wooded patches went by as I drove on, only interrupted by my passage of some tiny towns. Cows, horses and other livestock wandered about in some of the pastures, and deer lurked hidden in the woods, waiting for the sun to set to begin wandering about. The area in which I live isn’t too awfully different, but it is a bit more suburban, with more homes and fewer farms. Like many people, I spend most of my time in and around the small town I live closest to. This is a town that is only about three miles end to end, and once you go not far beyond its borders you are pretty much back to fields and farms.

On my way back from that client’s home, I got to thinking about my usual surroundings and about scale. One of the roads I traveled crosses a small steel truss bridge that spans a creek. This bridge is fairly old, being of the riveted style that was common in the early and into the mid 20^th century. As befits its location on a two lane country road, its clearance is too low for very large trucks to cross it. That little bridge, and the sporadic buildings and structures that populate its surroundings, are all quite small in scale. I think I have now come to realize one of the reasons that I tend to see the likes of the Bay Bridge as a metal monster. In my daily existence, now and in the past, about the largest and tallest man-made structure I might see is a grain silo. If I’m in more urban areas, there may be some commercial buildings rising a few stories. Even when I went to school in Baltimore, most of the buildings there were not all that tall when compared to those in other cities. And besides, my school was at the northern end of town, where few buildings were more than a few stories. There was also a small steel bow-shaped truss bridge adjacent to one of the buildings where I took a lot of my classes. It carries Howard Street over interstate 83. Sometimes if I was going across town to buy photo supplies I had the occasion to cross it. But that bridge, and the buildings around it, fit into the landscape. This urban scenery often figured into the artwork of some of my classmates, as I can recall seeing more than a few drawings, paintings and photographs of the bridge and its background. But I did not live in the city as many of the other students did, and therefore my “homework” consisted of me drawing, painting and photographing things that were in my own semi rural neighborhood.

Even in cities, all of these structures mostly seem to fit and blend in, just as a herd of cattle would be expected in a farmer’s field, along with a barn and a silo. And even what larger man-made structures there are, still do little to disrupt the flow of the landscape. But then there is that which is monstrous, a thing that appears to rise up out of nowhere and totally dominates its surroundings. In nature such anomalies can occasionally be found, like a huge outcropping of rocks jutting up out of an otherwise flat expanse. Or even a very large tree perched alone on the top of a hill can manifest itself as out of place. However, nature does have a way of dealing with such oddities. The rocky mound will eventually erode away from wind and rain, and the tree will at some point get hit by lightning or be blown down in a storm. There is always a tendency to level things out, to homogenize the natural landscape by the constantly shifting forces of nature.

My thoughts on this observation are not relating to natural features but rather on those most unnatural things that lurk in unexpected places. I am thinking back to my approach to the city of Savannah, Georgia as I came down from the north. Just the other day my mom and I were discussing that trip, and she also vividly remembers our drive into that city. There was nothing for miles alongside the four lane divided highway, save for unending forests and fields. The scenery then changed to a more open and marshy environment where the eye could see far out into the distance. It was a vast expanse of cattails, reeds and other aquatic plants separated by calm and shallow waters. The road played out ahead like a concrete ribbon, gently curving. And then, suddenly, there it was! The Talmadage Memorial Bridge with its double towers cresting the horizon like a giant stony creature that had crawled up out of the river. A truly massive beast that seemingly grew larger upon my approach, until it simply overshadowed everything around it.

It is this very aspect of such enormous structures that tends to evoke a most unsettling feeling. They are ominous to some, breathtaking and awe inspiring to others, and yet for the really unlucky, utterly terrifying in scope. Not all bridges are like this, of course, but many of them do totally dominate their surroundings. They are monstrous structures that lord over the natural world, being most unnatural in appearance. Seeing the Bay Bridge, or the New River Gorge Bridge in person, especially on foot, can be rather overwhelming. Or even driving towards, and then crossing the likes of the Talmadge Bridge, Delaware Memorial, or the Key Bridge. How such a reaction might be interpreted would depend upon one’s point of view. For those who recoil with fear, the sight of a gargantuan steel and concrete monstrosity looming high above the water (or ground) surely must stimulate the ultimate panic. Not just that it is there, visible for miles away, but that the road that is traveled upon leads right onto it. My mom recalled her first drive over the Delaware Memorial Bridge, telling me how dreadful a sight she beheld of that infernal span arching high above the river. This is precisely the attribute that I think causes massive bridges to evoke such intense reactions in many people. They are not of nature and they do not belong or fit into their environment, and their scale is often overwhelming. The Bay Bridge rises up above the relatively calm waters of the Chesapeake, a jarring jumble of steel towers and bents, festooned with cables and wires, all perched upon rows of concrete piers. The Delaware Memorial Bridge greets east and westbound travelers with its huge towers standing tall upon the distant horizon. And then said travelers must face the steep arch of its deck as it clears the river. Same situation for the infamous Sunshine Skyway Bridge as it cuts its way across the flat expanse of the Tampa Bay, its massive towers lording above the waters. All of these make such a grand statement that cannot be ignored.

I don’t know, perhaps I am odd for having those feelings of unease, awe, thrill and sometimes trepidation. I believe that my reactions are strengthened by the fact that such encounters are rather rare for me. I found the Bay Bridge to be so epic as a child because I rarely got to see it. And when I did cross it, it was so utterly massive and magnificent as compared to anything I would see in my daily life. Unlike the experience of someone who would live or work in, say, Manhattan, where such sights of massive structures are commonplace. Since the collapse of the Key Bridge I’ve acquired several books devoted to the more picturesque, historical and cultural aspects of bridges. While I’ve not read them all cover to cover (if only I had the time!), it is obvious that the authors have been motivated to write and publish such volumes. And not only that, but their publication is an indication that it is expected that there will be readers with those same interests. But still, I do wonder if other people have such an emotional reactions, even if more subdued than mine. to such monstrous structures. And perhaps it is these strong emotions that also draw some of those who seek to make use of such structures to end their lives…