TIMBER CROSSINGS
By Prof. Robert McCullough
University of Vermont Historic Preservation Program
Burlington, VT 05405
Introduction
Spring Road
Bridge, Tunbridge, Vermont.
Photograph, 1953.
VAOT Collection
Selecting the best practices for preserving any single
historic covered bridge can easily evolve into an intense focus on a narrow range
of alternatives, each of which poses some undesirable result. Vermont's covered bridge preservation
plan, for example, begins with two principal goals: first, to continue using
covered bridges as part of the state's network of highways; and second, to
preserve historic integrity (both structural and material) to the maximum
extent possible. Those who devised
this plan clearly understood that, for many bridges, service to one goal will
often compromise the other.
Concerns about preserving Vermont’s covered bridges began to
surface during the early 1940s, about a decade before this 1953 photograph of
the Mill or Spring Road Bridge in Tunbridge, built in 1883 and destroyed by ice
in 1999.
King-Post Truss,
Pittsfield, Vermont. Photograph,
1897
VHS Collection
When facing this conundrum, we can sometimes benefit
by considering the historic context for these bridges. A great variety of timber structures,
not all of them framed, characterized roads in rural Vermont during the nineteenth
and early twentieth centuries, and this diverse collection of bridges dominate
that context. Although covered
bridges have been the subject of broad public interest and scrutiny (one can
find nearly a dozen books or monographs in Vermont, alone), the broader
traditions of timber bridges are little-studied. Equally important, although photographs give us some idea
about the appearance of 19th century roads, we know little about local
decisions governing the location, methods of construction, and maintenance of
these corridors and their bridges.
In short, our view of the local landscapes in which timber bridges of
all types functioned is incomplete.
For
instance, what factors influenced towns in the selection of bridge-building
methods? What was the average life
span of bridges? Did span length
and, by implication, cost, dominate discussion about community investment, or
did other factors contribute? Were
towns willing to build more substantial bridges at heavily traveled locations,
village centers for example? To
what extent can those covered bridges that survive be characterized as common
during their day? Were these
crossings simply one class of timber-framed structures among a great variety of
ordinary bridges? Or, did
increasing span length signify greater engineering skill or framing methods
and, if so, to what degree?
Nor,
as you may have guessed, is the matter of defining covered bridges as easy as
we might think. If we mean a
covered bridge to be a timber-framed structure with protective siding and a
roof, does this bridge in Pittsfield meet that definition? If not, are the categories of ordinary
timber-framed bridges to be distinguished by span length, type and depth of
truss, methods of joinery, or simply the shape of protective cladding?
Gateway Road,
Center Rutland, Vermont.
Photograph, c. 1924.
VAOT Collection
Unfortunately, answers to many of these questions are
elusive. Often, the information we
need is either lost or is well hidden among town records. Whether we expand our knowledge of
context for these bridges, however, can have important bearing on the best
practices being considered today.
For one thing, those covered bridges that survive have acquired new
cultural dimension, the unavoidable result of attaching value to artifact. Yet does this new dimension distort our
perception of what may have been simply one category of ordinary bridges? Today, do we think of covered bridges
as billboards, here advertising Paine’s Celery Compound on Gateway Road
in Rutland in 1924?
If
our perceptions are distorted, does this influence our decisions concerning
appropriate preservation treatments?
Ultimately, choices among various alternatives for conserving these
bridges represent value judgments.
When considering these choices, what is the result of placing greater
emphasis on the context of 19th and early 20th century traditions of ordinary
timber bridges and rural roads, and on the landscapes they complement? Does the need to preserve covered
bridges as functioning segments of highways move more sharply into focus? And, if so, how carefully should we
weigh choices that require changes to structural or material integrity? Finally, can we connect these concerns
to the current debate about appropriate scale of highway and bridge projects in
rural areas?
Marshfield /
Cabot. Photograph, c. 1922
VAOT Collection
With such questions in mind, this paper is organized
into three segments. First,
exploring timber bridges of all types, the ordinary structures that characterized
rural highways during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, is
key. This unidentified span in
either Marshfield or Cabot, photographed c. 1922, is probably typical. Although questions outnumber answers, a
sampling taken here can at least point in the direction that future study might
take.
A
large photograph collection begun by the Vermont Highway Commission before
World War I offers a helpful starting point. Professional photographers were hired to document the poor
condition of Vermont's roads and bridges and to publicize new construction then
underway. Unwittingly or not,
these image-makers also managed to record remnants of the state's early roads -
primitive turnpikes and rickety timber bridges. This remarkable collection offers an important glimpse of
overland travel in Vermont immediately prior to, and just after, arrival of the
automobile.
Burr Arch-Truss,
John Johnson. Plan c. 1825
UVM Special Collections
Second, bridge designers and framers are also part of that
context, influencing both the proliferation and evolution of bridge-building
methods. Much has been written
about these men, and to that list we can add the name of John Johnson,
millwright, builder, architect, civil engineer, and capable surveyor who lived
in Burlington for much of his life, becoming surveyor general of Vermont in
1813, and again after 1830. During
the first half of the nineteenth century, and much later in some regions,
professional engineers who acted as intermediaries between clients and builders
were uncommon, particularly in remote parts of New England. Thus, the very detailed plans, material
specifications, bills of accounting, and exquisite renderings prepared by
Johnson assume special importance.
Johnson produced at least two plans for Burr arch-trusses, including
this unidentified bridge probably designed no later than 1830, that relies on
double diagonals in each panel.[1]
Checkered House
Bridge, Richmond. Photograph, 1929
VAOT Collection
Finally, bridges of all types can be distinctive
features in our landscapes, a theme that is tied to each part of this
discussion. The remarkable
prevalence of bridges in landscape art and photography reinforces this
argument. The word
"crossings" seems to express the visual, utilitarian, and symbolic
contributions that bridges make to our villages, urban centers, and
countryside, implying much more than just physical structure. Covered bridges are one type of
crossing, but an especially important type because their unusual form is so
easily recognized by the public.
Thus, they become valuable in any quest to sharpen perceptions about the
visual contributions provided by other types of bridges. In turn, this leads to more informed
discussion about the measure of change appropriate, today, in our
transportation corridors. In 1929,
the Checkered House Bridge was replaced by this Pennsylvania truss, today known
by the same name. As you travel
across the Winooski River in Richmond this week, compare the scale of these two
bridges with that of the twin interstate bridges.
The
word "timber" describes a broader category of crossings, its historic
meaning intended to distinguish building material from fuelwood or underwood,
the latter often used for fencing or other light construction. Over time, commoners in England's
ancient nucleated villages acquired rights to collect wood for fuel or to
gather what limbs or boughs could be reached by hook or by crook, possibly the
origin of that phrase. Timber,
however, was coveted and usually obtained by specific grant. That distinction remains in our
language today, for we speak of wood fires but timber frames.[2]
Ordinary
19th Century Timber Bridges
Island Pond Road,
Bloomfield, Vermont. Photograph,
1922
VAOT Collection
Town of Pomfret, Annual
Report (1860)
Town of Cavendish, Annual Report
(1861)
Town of Chelsea, Annual Report
(1889)
During the 19th and early 20th
centuries, Vermont towns built timber bridges of great variety, the simplest of
which may have been stringer spans such as this example in Bloomfield,
photographed in 1922. This much we
know from both images and local records.
In this state, and many other parts of New England, too, the best
records of local highway and bridge building are found in annual town
reports. Accountings by treasurers
or selectmen appear in hand-written summaries of town meetings before
mid-century, but printed reports begin to appear by 1850, earlier in some regions.
Information supplied ranges from the very sketchy to moderately detailed
accounts, such as that in Chelsea in 1889, to precise summaries such as that
for the 1861 Duttonsville Bridge in Cavendish.[3]
Brahana
Bridge, Lowell, Vermont.
Photograph, 1923
More important, by scanning a broad
sampling of these records, we can cautiously draw several conclusions. One is that the costs of building and
maintaining bridges represented a substantial part of town budgets. Another is that practicality often
governed, and many towns opted to build bridges cheaply and quickly, knowing
that rebuilding would be necessary in five or ten years, possibly sooner. In truth, few taxes were levied more
regularly than for the rebuilding or repairing of bridges. Timber crib abutments stationed well
into river beds, necessarily so to limit span lengths, proved vulnerable to
flooding, and freshets took a yearly toll. Thus, very simple king and queen-post truss bridges, as
often as not employing iron tension rods rather than king-posts, became common
- built and rebuilt with frequency.
This example is in Lowell, pictured in 1923 shortly before its
replacement. Builders and town
officials sometimes used the terms “rafter truss” or “open
bridge” to describe these structures.[4]
Town Lattice Truss
– Unidentified Location.
Photograph c. 1922
VAOT Collection
At the same time, however, a very practical outlook
may have also led to recognition that more permanent structures proved less
expensive over the long haul at important crossings - village centers or mill
sites, for example. The location
of the Town lattice truss depicted in this 1922 image is unidentified, but its
relationship to the adjoining mill seems clear. The longer the span, the greater the depth of trusses and
the more complicated the joinery.
In addition, increased truss depth required greater lateral
reinforcement, adding complexity to the structure. Roof and sides became the essential means to protect
community investment. Insurance became another, and local records indicate that
towns owning expensive timber bridges had begun to insure them by the 1880s,
probably earlier. That some
bridges have survived for more than a century is ample evidence of this frugal
outlook.[5]
Park Street, Black
River Falls, Springfield, Vermont. c. 1870
UVM Special Collections
Yet concluding that such bridges
quickly became standard is risky.
Consider, for instance, Park Street above the Black River Falls in the
center of Springfield. There, one of
the state's first iron truss bridges, designed to Charles Parker's 1870 patent,
was erected in 1869 to replace a timber bridge destroyed by flooding. The city paid Parker $3,526.00, a
substantial sum suggesting a desire by city officials to purchase durability
and a willingness to innovate.
However, the bridge was destroyed that same year by another flood and
replaced by a timber bridge, probably this multiple king-post span reinforced
by large struts and presumably the least expensive option. Here is an example of reliance on a
well-tested and economical bridge type at a substantial crossing (about seventy
feet), above a principal river, and at a frequently traveled site. Here, too, may be a rare example of an
iron bridge being replaced by a timber span.[6]
Davis Bridge
across the Deerfield River, Whitingham Depot, Vermont
Photograph by
Frank Crosier, 1920. VHS
Collection
Is the Springfield bridge an aberration, the result of
an unfortunate but unlikely sequence of events? Should we conclude that at most principal crossings, longer
spans dictated the use of more substantial and complex timber framing requiring
protective roof and sides?
Possibly, but there is also much evidence to suggest that open bridges
were adapted to spans approaching sixty or seventy feet.
Multiple King-Post
Truss. Unidentified Location. Photograph c. 1935
VAOT Collection
Two examples are revealing; one, probably a Queen-post
design, is in Whitingham Depot.
The location of the second is unidentified but missing siding reveals
what is probably a multiple king-post design with truss timbers tripled in
breadth.
Both images suggest the
presence of another influence, railroads, that also shaped the context for 19th
century timber bridges. As
transportation networks improved, both travel and travel loads increased,
demanding greater structural capacity.
Initially, Vermont's railroads built bridges almost exclusively with
timber, introducing more sophisticated truss systems and emphasizing the
importance of carefully built stone abutments and piers.[7]
Heineberg Bridge,
Winooski River, Colchester Point, Vermont. Henry R. Campbell, Engineer. Constructed 1860.
VAOT Collection
Towns
benefited from these advances. For
example, the Central Vermont Railroad began building its lines in 1846, and the
company retained Henry R. Campbell as chief engineer. Campbell at first relied extensively on Howe trusses but, by
1851, reported to stockholders that arch reinforcing had become necessary. When hired by the towns of Colchester
and Burlington, however, Campbell confidently assured his clients that a Howe
truss would be adequate for crossing the Winooski River at Colchester Point. The Heineberg Bridge opened in 1860,
three hundred feet in two spans, and remained in service until 1935.[8]
John
Johnson
Town Falls,
Winooski River, Colchester and Burlington, Vermont. John Johnson, Engineer. 1816. UVM
Special Collections
Although records offer scant proof, it is unlikely
that many local bridges were built to carefully detailed plans during most of
the nineteenth century. Instead,
builders probably reached informal agreements with towns, satisfying the latter
by dint of reputation. Thus, the
drawings of John Johnson assume special importance. Born in Canterbury, New Hampshire, in 1771, Johnson moved to
northwestern Vermont at age nineteen and by 1809 had settled in
Burlington. In addition to his
responsibilities as the state's Surveyor General, he also served briefly as
superintendent for part of the boundary survey conducted by the United States
and Canada. His son, Edwin Ferry
Johnson, also achieved a successful career, becoming chief engineer of the
Northern Pacific Railroad.
The elder Johnson's skills and occupations
extended well beyond surveying and included the design of mechanical structures
as well as buildings. Public and
private patrons retained him to develop plans and specifications for a wide
variety of building types, among them mills, dams, barns, houses, and at least
one church. His bridge plans are
professional-quality drawings (most in ink, some with watercolor) and include
carefully itemized specifications for timber and other materials, written
instructions concerning milling of the timber and its assembly, and accountings
of the costs.
An
1816 plan for a bridge across the Onion River at Winooski Falls, between
Burlington and Colchester, is among the oldest of Johnson's surviving
timber-frame designs. Sets of
rafter trusses, as he called them, provide support for the three-span crossing
(57 feet clear span). Johnson
called for a structure twenty-four feet wide, sufficient to accommodate two
travel lanes divided by one set of the trusses. Trestles sheathed in wooden planks separate spans of the 228
foot bridge. Truss timbers, keys,
and treenails are white oak; remaining timber is white pine.[9]
Timber Cantilever, Waterford,
Vermont. Undated / Unbuilt. John Johnson, Engineer. UVM Special Collections
Johnson also appears to have experimented with a
two-span cantilever structure, each span 112 feet. The bridge was apparently destined for Waterford, but the
plan is marked "obsolete."[10]
Burr Arch-Truss,
Hubbell’s Falls, Essex, Vermont.
John Johnson, Engineer.
1825
UVM Special
Collections
Johnson produced plans for timber bridges in a number of
Vermont towns, including Essex, Cambridge, Berkshire, and Milton, as well as
several bridges in other states.
Although some plans are undated, most were probably drawn between 1816
and 1831. Several are for covered
bridges, including a two-span Burr arch/truss at Hubbell’s Falls in
Essex, dated May and June 1825.
True to Burr's design, Johnson carried the arches to the piers and
abutments rather than simply tying them to the bottom chords (the latter
sometimes occurring in Vermont) and again employed two travel lanes divided by
a center arch and truss. Both
spans of the Hubbell’s Falls bridge, one a little more than 101 feet, the
other 80 feet, employ multiple king-post trusses with the Burr arches.[11]
Bridge Timber
Reserve Bill, Essex Bridge. John Johnson, Engineer. 1825
Bill of Expenses,
Essex Bridge. John Johnson,
Engineer.
UVM Special
Collections
A joint bill
of timber and list of expenses for a bridge and toll house at Essex, audited on
January 1, 1827, are probably for the same structure. The latter indicates that John, Caleb, and Hosea Munson were
among those paid for purchasing and framing the timber.
Rafter Truss, John
Johnson, Engineer. c. 1816
UVM Special Collections
Johnson's plans also contribute to our discussion
about ordinary 19th century timber bridges. His design for another open, four-span bridge, 240 feet in
length but location not identified, is developed with the same attention to detail
given to the slightly larger Hubbell’s Falls bridge. Presence of protective cladding on the
latter may be explained by the differences in span length (51 vs. 80 and 101),
and the added complexity (and vulnerability) of joinery. Or, are other factors at work? Did one town simply ask its engineer,
as towns today so often do, to produce plans for the least expensive
option? In either case, there
seems to be little difference in the engineering effort devoted to each. Again, answers to these questions are
elusive, but Johnson's plans make it difficult for us to discount a variety of
19th century timber bridges as either temporary or primitive.[12]
Crossings
St.
Johnsbury and Lake Champlain Railroad, Cambridge, Vermont.
Whether ordinary or heroic, bridges
often stand apart from their surroundings, becoming distinct landscape features
in the process. These are very
separate structures serving a single, specific function. Elements of appearance - shape, mass,
curve, angle, wall plane, contrast of solid and void, texture, color - all
merge to create building forms that can dominate and thus transform their
settings. The cross movement of
corridors, stream or road below and bridge above, as well as the distinct areas
of space created in each, also contribute. Thus, bridges can be observed in several ways: from within a
highway corridor; in elevation from the corridor below; and in close or distant
perspective, combining the first two.
Views from each vantage point can be markedly different. Railroad bridges can be especially
prominent features, this example once belonging to the St. Johnsbury and Lake
Champlain Railroad in Cambridge.
Granted, few people
pause during daily routine to consider the reasons why bridges are such
visually distinctive structures. Only do unusual types of crossings, covered
bridges among them, manage to capture the public's eye consistently and thus
offer opportunities to expand visual acuity. Public recognition that bridges can be distinctive landscape
features is a beginning point in what often becomes a complicated dialogue
about highway and bridge design.
The subtlety of this argument is easily lost in public debate where
matters of cost and safety tend to dominate discussion.[13]
View
of Rutland, Vermont (1840). Asher B. Durand. Nevertheless, the
consistent appearance of bridges in landscape art and photography helps to
reinforce these ideas. True, some
bridges capture attention simply because they are dramatic crossings. Many, however, are depicted by artists not
as objects of beauty but as ordinary structures complementing a panoramic
scene. Many provide specific
functions in evolving theories of landscape art. Some, for example, are central
focal points, part of formal composition essential to nineteenth century
picturesque themes.
Among
Hudson River School artists, Asher B. Durand often depicted the relationship
between humankind and nature in terms of pastoral harmony. His "View of Rutland, Vermont,
1839-40," was probably painted from a point about a mile west of the
village. The figures on the knoll
in the left foreground converse and observe, pointing to evidence of human
possibility. Nature looms large in surrounding mountains and in shadows
suggesting the presence of forests close behind the figures. Yet the setting is a tranquil one. Mountains are cloaked in haze, subdued
and unthreatening. The river,
possibly the Otter Creek, is tame, and the newly-built bridge that crosses it
symbolically frames a gateway into this Arcadian valley.[14]
Mount
Mansfield, Jericho. Charles Louis Heyde.
The
influence of Hudson River school painters remained strong during the coming
decades, and Vermont's agrarian landscapes proved inviting to a number of
artists, among them Charles Louis Heyde. Heyde's paintings span the years
between 1857 and 1892, and many depict views of Mount Mansfield. Several mark a favored vantage point in
Jericho along the Brown's River. In one work, undated, a small, timber bridge
serves as a focal point in the foreground, the most visible human structure.
The homestead is cloaked in shadow, but the road leads to open, sunlit fields
and other farmsteads in the distance.
A carefully developed symmetry between the natural and the man-made
dominates the painting, and Heyde uses the bridge to help attain this balance,
symbolically crossing from one to the other.
Winooski
River High Bridge. Charles Louis
Heyde.
In
many of Heyde's later paintings, the balance between the natural and the
man-made shifts and the latter is drawn more sharply into focus, aided by
greater realism. This outlook is
revealed in the "Winooski River High Bridge," once again undated.
Here, a covered bridge is the sole evidence of human enterprise, and it spans a
rocky gorge. Heyde isolates the
natural and the man-made in stark contrast, the vigor of each clearly
expressed. In the process, the bridge's utility quickly becomes clear. It visually dominates the setting,
safely above the reach of nature's forces. Yet the presence of nature is also
forceful, suggested by the canyon's spectacular view and by luminism, or
colored light, in the sky behind the bridge and in the water.[15]
This trend toward
realism was also spurred by the growing popularity of photography, an invention
that influenced both artist and patron. Stereographs, photographic images
placed in a viewer to augment depth of field, became fashionable, partly
because they revealed clarity of detail that had been missing from
paintings. In addition, the camera
easily captured an infinite variety of subjects, enlarging both the breadth and
versatility of composition in the process.
Winooski River
High Bridge, A.F. Styles. Undated
Among
the many photographers who explored Vermont scenery during this period, A. F.
Styles of Burlington was especially prolific. Compare, for example, his image of the High Bridge above the
Winooski River, probably photographed no later than 1870, with Heyde's painting
of the same structure. The bridge
is now well in the background, and contrast between the natural and the man-made
is no longer a central theme.
Instead, the ability of the camera to capture the mirror-like surface of
the water is dominant, and an aura of reflected light bathes the figure of a
girl at the river's edge. Patterns of light, too, strongly hint at the quiet
flow of water beneath the surface, its current slowly pulling one's eye toward
the distant channel beneath the bridge.[16]
Battenkill River,
Manchester Depot. Post Card c.
1912
Landscape
photography also became an easy method to advance the cause of tourism. Moreover, economic opportunity for
photographers lingered long after sightseers had arrived. Post cards were purchased by the
millions, many to be mounted in parlor albums where travels could be relived
again and again. The selling of
landscape became a business, with highways and bridges playing principal
roles. As automobiles began to
roll across the American scene in ever-increasing numbers, post cards became
the perfect symbols for a new era of tourism.
St. Johnsbury,
Vermont. Post Card c. 1912
Post cards also offered
local photographers a chance to learn the art of selling landscape - to
unerringly recognize those settings that could be marketed successfully. These were quick lessons, too, because
cards were often displayed locally at village stores or corner markets. The consistency with which
photographers turned to images of bridges is remarkable. In some scenes, bridges are recognized
simply because they dominate their settings.[17]
Grafton,
Vermont. Post Card c. 1930
Yet photographers also knew that
even modest bridges can transform ordinary scenery. Here, the crossing is a portal to a small valley in Grafton,
and the image-maker seems as intent on the bridge itself as on offering the
viewer a suggestion of what lies beyond.
In nearly every possible way, the composition contrasts sharply with
that of St. Johnsbury. Yet
crossings are principal to both.
“At
the Bridge.” Wallace K. Nutting, Vermont Beautiful. 1922
Motor-touring quickly changed both
the pace and reach of travel.
Although landscape photography continued to reveal Vermont's pastoral
countryside as a melding of built and natural environments, vantage points were
imagined to be those of roving motorists.
In 1922, an influential photographic documentary, Wallace K. Nutting's Vermont
Beautiful, aimed its appeal at automobile travelers. Many of the book's views are from
roads, and more than a few focus on bridges, including one titled "Hill
Stream Bridge."[18]
Kettle Bridge, Eden. Photograph, 1922
The influence of landscape
photography during this period of emerging automobile travel extended well
beyond the goals of tourism and touched very ordinary activities. Road-building
began in earnest after World War I, and construction continued unabated during
the 1920s and 1930s. The state
highway board turned to photographers to aid in project planning. Some were
professionals, including Mack Derick of Orleans, and their work, and that of
others influenced by them, reveals an appreciation for scenic landscapes. In truth, many of their images focus
more on setting than on details of a particular structure or road. In some, remarkably, bridges appear
almost overlooked.
Consider, for example, a 1922
image of the Kettle Bridge in Eden by an unknown photographer, possibly Mack
Derrick. The small, tumbledown
wooden span is the subject of concern.
Yet the picture offers few details of the bridge and instead is a carefully
composed landscape study. The
highway, bordered by fences and pasture, moves sequentially from the foreground
to the center of the image where the bridge has been placed. The road then disappears behind trees
that shelter the brook, and hills rise in the distance, providing a verdant
backdrop. Yet the silhouette of
the most prominent tree is clearly visible against the sky.
“Old Wooden Bridge,” Aldro
T. Hibbard
Landscape artists and photographers
continued to incorporate bridges into their art throughout the twentieth
century, all the while pursuing increasingly creative avenues of expression. Inventive uses of color and form merged
with a multitude of influences.
Some artists revived earlier landscape traditions – the
picturesque on a grand scale.
Others developed abstract representations of pure form, line, or space;
some turned, instead, to painstaking realism. More than a few remained content to interpret landscapes in
a very unaffected manner, returning to themes of harmony between human and
natural environments. The
paintings of Aldro Hibbard, for example, often limit evidence of human
activity. Yet bridges figure
prominently in his work, simple testimony to the unique visual effect of a
structure spanning moving water. Here, the painting is titled simply “Old
Wooden Bridge.”[19]
Conclusion
Waterville,
Vermont. Photograph by Jim Healy,
1961.
VAOT Collection
This small sampling of paintings
and photographs barely introduces this vast topic. Regardless of the period or genre of landscape art, however,
at least two contributions of the artist are valuable to the discussion about
bridge and highway projects. The
first is the practiced skill of observing landscapes. The second is the intuitive understanding that certain
features, bridges among them, make strong visual contributions to the
whole. For those who are charged
with making decisions about our modern highways and bridges, recognition that
changes to very legible parts of our landscapes can weaken awareness of our
surroundings is crucial. Covered
bridges can play an important role in that quest for understanding, and so,
too, can the artists and photographers who have long studied these
subjects. Transportation Agency
photographer Jim Healy captured these two artists at work in Waterville in
1961, a quiet setting for future study.
Endnotes