Friends Old, New, and Soon to Be,
You won’t find a deed if you check with the Glynn County Clerk of Courts, but towards the southern end of Georgia’s St. Simons Island, over the narrow creek bisecting it, there’s a causeway bridge that belongs to my father. Georgia is an adverse possession state, allowing a trespasser or squatter to claim legal ownership of property if they possess it openly, exclusively, and without the owner’s permission for twenty years. I know I put in ten years on that bridge with my dad. My brother was only two when I left for college, but I am confident they put in another ten together. That’s at least twenty for my old man. Neither my dad nor I make any claim to any of the land his bridge connects, though we parked on the side of that road enough times that I might be willing to claim a car length’s worth. But it’s his bridge. I don’t make the rules.
I’m not sure what the appraised value of my dad’s bridge is, nor am I sure how to monetize it. Maybe we could erect a toll booth and charge the folks headed to the King and Prince Hotel in case they’re unwilling to take the long route south through the village and back up the island. But that would destroy the value of Dad’s bridge for me. It is not a place for work; for leveraging upsides or maximizing out-year potential or synchronizing efficiencies. The value of Dad’s bridge is totaled in the hours he spent there with me, then my brother, or better yet, me and my brother, catching fish and crabs and politely answering questions for folks with Ohio tags, then grousing about the interruptions once they drove off. It’s an almost incalculable number, and I cannot think of anything more valuable he could have given me than the time we spent on his bridge.
