How would God respond to making a mistake? Would planets collide or mountains slide into the sea? Or would the ledger of all life simply remain out kilter until a series of small events forced that ledger back into balance again? It's probably the l...
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August 11, 12:49AM
a railroad bridge near
Niagara Falls, Ontario
Before leaving Toronto, I sat on the hood of the car and stared at the cramped suburban neighborhoods north of the city. The streets are all laid out in a perfect rectangular grid. It's as if the city planners were determined not to let anyone get lost up here ever again. I guess they learned their lesson with Henry Hudson.
As I left the parking lot, it made me sad to drive away because this may be the closest I ever get to the place where Henry Hudson disappeared. That probably sounds silly to you, doesn't it, Buddy? I mean, I didn't know him. And from what I've read, there isn't much to know about Henry's life. Not even where he was born. But I've always wanted to go way up north and try to find some evidence of his final days. A broken-down cabin. A musket. Or maybe some message carved into a tree. And there are zillions upon zillions of trees that no one has ever checked out. But eventually I guess everyone has to let go their dreams. Still, I wonder how long Henry walked over that frozen world before giving up.
But that's not me, Buddy. Not yet anyway. I'm still trying, but I'm not sure about my car. The clicking sound is pretty persistent now. Anyway, I'm giving the engine a little rest while I wait by a railroad bridge near Niagara Falls. This is one of the places I had on my original list. I just never expected to be looking at it in the dark.
There's no moon tonight, so it's about as dark outside as it can possibly get. The darkness reminded me of visiting the Onondaga Cave near where my Dad grew up. We were on a tour with a guide who was busily pointing out all the stalactites and stalagmites. At one point, the guide said, "Stalactites hold tight to the ceiling and someday stalagmites might reach the roof of the cave." Just as I was digesting that marvelous bit of wisdom, the guide turned out the lights in the cave and we were in utter darkness. Mom. Dad. Crow. And me. It was as black anything could be and for a few seconds I frantically reached out so I could touch something or someone. I wanted to find my mother's hand. Or my Dad's. Or Crow's. Even though it lasted just a few seconds, it was an awful feeling. I thought I'd pass out before the lights came back on.
Tonight, the world is almost as dark as it was inside that cave. So dark that it took me a long time to find this bridge. I'm pretty sure I'm at the right place, but I can't be sure because there's no plaque detailing the history of this bridge. There's only the bridge, the falls, and the Niagara River below it.
You see, Buddy, it was off this railroad bridge that baseball's first great hitter died. The mystery is how it happened. Or maybe why. They called him Big Sam-Bam Wilson. He was brother to Frank, Jim, Joe, and Tom, and most people figure he was drunk and just fell off the bridge. He was definitely drunk. That much is known. And he did try to cross the bridge on foot. But after he stepped onto it, nothing else is known except that his body went over the falls and washed ashore on the Canadian side of the Niagara River.
