George Washington’s horse slipped on the sleet-coated terrain, almost sending the general down the 50-foot embankment into a icy, fast-flowing stream.
Washington grabbed the horse’s mane with both hands, and pulled its head up, all while shifting his weight forward to allow the horse to gain hind-leg traction. The animal righted itself, and like they say, the rest is history.
It was Christmas night, 1776. The story is more than American lore. It is arguably the most important moment in American history. With his troops demoralized and Congress broke, and the people of the colonies losing enthusiasm for the Revolution, Washington needed a strategic and moral victory. He got both when he led his army across the Delaware in a winter storm and led a surprise attack on Trenton.
Fast forward 234 years, Jacob’s Creek is still running icy in winter, and the ravine is just as steep and treacherous. An iron, wood-planked bridge was put up in 1882, built wide enough and strong enough for farmers wagons and teamsters that rumbled across it on Bear Tavern Road. Other than that, it’s not hard to stand over the ravine and imagine the 2,400 soldiers of the Continental fording the stream, with horses and artillery in tow.
“Outside of the park (Washington’s Crossing), this is the only part of the Victory Trail that remains pristine,” Roland LaFrance.
LaFrance and many of his neighbors want to keep it that way.
Mercer County wants to tear down the old bridge and build a new bridge, but one that will cut closer to the ravine, and have a four-ton maximum load.
“We’re determined to build a bridge that’s safe and secure for emergency vehicles,” said Mercer County Executive Brian Hughes. “The residents are afraid it will become a cut-through for truck traffic to Route 31, but we’ve already lowered the weight requirement to four tons (on the proposed bridge), so that’s not a valid argument.”
What has ensued in the battle over the bridge is a typical New Jersey story. Historic sites, no matter how sacred, get plowed over for progress, and the state’s legacy is lost.
“I’m finding history is like health,” said Beth Kerr. “You don’t miss it until its gone.”
Kerr lives on a farm on the bluff above the creek. The farm has been in the Kerr family since 1920. On a bluff across street lives Roni Browne Katz, an artist who has only been there two years. Katz lives in what was formerly the game house of the Roebling estate. Sara Cooper grew up in that house.
“This issue has brought a lot of people together,” Cooper said. “This a rural area, so we all just go along about our business. But the bridge issue got us involved.”
The group formed last summer to petition local leaders to spare the old bridge.
“We heard over and over, ‘this was a done deal,’ ” Kerr said.
Undaunted, they mobilized. Ashley Kerr, Beth’s stepdaughter, began nominating the site for national and state “endangered lists.” A website was put up.
Petitions were circulated at every community fair or event in the area, and online. Thousands of names were collected. A march, retracing the soldiers steps, was held. A mural painting fest was held at Katz house. Schoolkids were lobbied, and the group made its own coloring book.
The group started getting hind-leg traction, just like GW’s horse. The bridge became an election issue, and the Hopewell Township mayor who did not support preservation was voted out.
Their little revolution was underway. Now they want the Mercer County freeholders to think about the slippery slope of not listening to their constituents. Already, the county has dropped the weight load, and Hughes said he working with state and local historic bodies to build an acceptable bridge. But acceptable to Hughes may not be acceptable to the residents.
“This our town, and our way of life, and we are going to fight for it,” Beth Kerr said.