Crossing Over

"Where are we going?"
"To the Lynn Canyon Suspension Bridge."
"How high up is the bridge?" (scowling)
"It's pretty high up."
"Well, I'm not going on it." (more scowling, arms crossed over chest)
"Why don't you wait until we get there to make up your mind about that."
And so it goes. As it goes with everything new, challenging, scary, difficult, or foreign. And Zoe.
A drive over over the Burrard Inlet bridge, up the mountain, into the little town, through a little neighborhood, and boom, you're at the edge of civilization- and a cliff.
Tall trees surround the small provincial park parking lot. There is a short walk to a very modern wood and steel building that houses a cafe with a cozy fireplace, large, clean bathrooms and the coolest looking chemistry set/barista station I've ever seen. Directly across from the 'warming hut' is the trailhead for the Lynn Canyon Suspension Bridge. Only a half hour from Vancouver, it feels far away from anything urban, hiding in an ancient forest, surrounded by lacy green tree tops, and the sound of rushing water.
Only a few yards down the path, and you can see the bridge- behind the trees, it drops and swoops (just as your stomach will) down in to the narrow canyon before gliding back up to the other side of the forest. The tapered lines of steel cables and wood steps act like an arrow slicing through the dense, cool forest. Clean and sure, it points the way to go... down and out into the thin air. I push past the tourists haggling with their second thoughts on the last step of terra firma before adjusting my balance to wavering, metallic braid beneath my feet. My first instinct is to look down at what is dashing underneath my shoes- I can feel every footstep, every movement, every breath of every other being on that bridge, and we are now intertwined. I look out ahead of me: That woman with the uneasy smile headed my way, running- "stop running!" I plead to her with no more than my eyes. As she comes closer, I can see she is in a hurry to be off of this experience. Like a spider on it's web, I can feel everything- and I sense something foreign. I scan the crowd ahead of me. There are many people grouped in the middle, the lowest part of the suspension bridge. The walkway is only wide enough to allow two people to pass each other. Some walk slowly, some quickly, some lean to pass others tipping the rest of us slightly. There, at the middle among the bipeds is a dog. A large German Shepard, I could tell something felt different further out. I kept going, pitching slightly as I went, swinging back and forth, vibrating. A pre-teen boy, crying, gripping the hand rope, his braces glinting in the light. Surrounded by his siblings, encouraging him on. I looked back for Zoe- would she jump off, follow me? No. But she is watching me, partly scowling, partly worried. Worried that I might be scared? I smile, "I am having SO much fun".
At the middle, I look down over the ropes. I remember why there is such a noisy roar coming from below. It's the river. Full from the recent (and seemingly constant) rains the water spills along the bottom of the canyon, over the mossy boulders, from one deep pool to another. There are several places where smaller creeks join, and it seems as if there are waterfalls everywhere you turn. I'm getting dizzy. Not from the view, but from the constant sway of people moving over the bridge, every move tied to everyone's every move. Pulling, swaying, lurching, returning, rising, falling. Time to continue, up the far grade into the woods on the other side. I step off, and can still feel the movement of my path over.
Just as quickly, I head back down, into the fray of people laughing, snapping picutres, all marveling at the sights, giddy with the easy thrill of it, this feature of the forest. As I pass the center, the sway calms slightly. I look up and realize that most people have moved off the bridge, down the trails that veer off
into the trees. There is no quiet in the air with the water rushing below, but my body feels the quiet in the decrease of footsteps that rock the bridge. I quickly finish my jaunt, and reach Zoe, waiting for me back at the threshold to the bridge. Julian has already been over with Grammy, and Grampy Ted, who "doesn't do bridges like this" was patiently waiting with Zoe and the others. I could tell Zoe wanted to go out, but was working up to it.
"It's not very wobbly now, because there aren't many people on it."
Zoe took my hand, and made her way over the trail to the entrance of the bridge. Slowly, she took tiny steps to the small metal plates, and then down, step by tiny step towards the middle of the span. The view caught her eye, but they were really focused on the prize- the other side. Slowly and surely she made her way past smiling Japanese picture takers, neighborhood joggers, and little toddlers, all pushing themselves over the abyss, past their comfort zone, to the other side. Once on the dirt trail opposite her starting point, she lept off and jumped up and down, thrilled by her own feat. We walked back hand in hand, looking at the waterfalls, pieces of driftwood trapped in their violent currents floating in joslted circles.
Zoe and I arrived to applause from our family, and Zoe immediately turned around,
"Again!!"
"okay, I'll take you again."
"No! Stay here! I want to go by myself."
And with that, she jumped onto the bridge, sure and straight as an arrow, darting to the other side.