Have you ever been to a place that refuses to vacate your head long after you leave it? It keeps revisiting your brain like a friendly stray cat, constantly teasing you with its cutesy charm. Well, the darned A.M. Foster Bridge in the Northeast Kingdom does just that to me.
The truth is, I don’t understand why I keep going back there. Cabot is three hours from my house, so a photo visit involves a six-hour round trip. And this bridge is not even a real bridge — it’s a 1988 reproduction of the old Martin Bridge in the nearby village of Marshfield.
Oh, but it keeps nagging, tugging at my sleeve, and pleading with me to return. Since I stumbled upon this Vermont icon four years ago, I’ve been back there countless times — in all seasons and at all times of day.
Let’s see, there was that snowstorm when I stood in the field on snowshoes in sub-zero temperature, waiting in the darkness of dawn for the sun to rise over the Green Mountains. And just recently, I was there at night to capture the stars shining above the bridge, alone with the frenzied neighborhood dogs and the multitude of croaking frogs that take residence in the pond under the bridge.
When I’m forced to account for these visits, I always give the same answer: I like it there. The place is a microcosm of the much bigger Vermont. A pretty covered bridge sitting on a hill in a lovely pasture, over a charming little pond, and overlooking the beautiful Green Mountains that shift character and color with the passing seasons.
But after my most recent nighttime visit, I may have finally subdued the dogged Foster Bridge attraction. I can now resist the call of that wooden siren in Cabot.
Though, I do wonder what it would be like to shoot the sunset there immediately after a summer thunderstorm. And, I also wonder if the Milky Way might be visible directly over the bridge on a moonless night. Hmmmm.


















