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There’s something humbling about walking across the bridge over the “Mighty Mo” in the small town of Hermann, Missouri. The path stretches ahead, seemingly endless, with no clear view of what lies beyond. Each step brings a sense of anticipation, a quiet wonder about what’s waiting on the other side.
Beneath my feet, the Missouri River moves with an unseen force, its currents carrying the echoes of history. To my right, freight trains rumble down the tracks, their sheer power felt in my chest as they transport goods and people across the heartland. Tugboats push massive barges upstream, momentarily drowning out the river’s own voice. But even in those brief moments of silence, I know she is still roaring. From this height, she looks deceptively calm, but her waters command both respect and awe.
I can’t help but marvel at the resilience of those who came before us—the German settlers who built this town, who braved these waters long before bridges spanned them. They crossed without modern conveniences, forging paths where none existed, creating lives in the unknown.
In many ways, I feel a kinship with them. My own journey is one of transition—moving from city life to our homestead farm. For now, we’re still tethered to our city jobs, but each day, we take another step toward self-sufficiency. Like this bridge, our path forward isn’t always clear, but we keep walking, learning, and preparing for the life we are building.
One step at a time.
“Every path in life has a bridge… the journey is crossing it”
