(original story circa 2002)
Each week Mom used to pack me up in the front seat of an old Packard and drive through the Indiana countryside to a spot not far away, where a train track cut through miles and miles of cornfields. I stood patiently counting crows that congregated on twin vanishing strips of telephone wires, narrowing towards each corn tipped horizon. After a while the tracks began to vibrate softly, loosening tiny grains of sand that danced where they touched the magic steel rails. With each passing second my little boy’s brain filled with the thrill of an as-yet unseen locomotive, soon to be overwhelmed by the slow, steady rumble of an approaching train.
“Train time!” shouted Mom.
Where the tracks curved out of view, hidden by corn stalks and refracted sunlight, a wondrous engine appeared. A single headlamp — brighter than the sun — flashed momentarily; then, a piercing shriek from a whistle that scattered crows in all directions. Just to be sure, Mom held my hand in hers, and together we felt the rush and massive displacement as the engine pounded past; a wave from the friendly engineer, another screech from the whistle just for me. The wheels growled with a steel-on-steel voice so deep and regular and resonating it made my insides ache. The pavement all around shook and shook and shook. Unimaginably huge cars thundered past — each one with a different sound — and in-between each tonal shift, stroboscopic shadows flickered rhythmically where sunlight was interrupted.
Boom, boom, boom, boom. . .
All too soon the caboose rattled past, cartoon-like, chasing the diminishing train back into the cornfields. The dancing grains of sand and sound subsided along with my pounding heartbeat.
(present day)
Tim says: this is one of my all-time favorite Simply Tims, ever.
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copyright© 2015 by Simply Tim’s Blog Spot
I can understand why this is one of your favorites. It is beautiful.
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I remember when you first posted that one. I loved it then and love it now. I’ve never really lived close to train tracks, but my grandparents home was relatively near them. We used to pass the tracks before we got ‘home.’ During the daytime, we didn’t think too much about the trains because we were always busy. But, at night, the whistle of the train always made us pause. Lonesome whistle describes it perfectly.
We were close enough to hear the whistle, and on calm, quiet nights, we could hear the trains.
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I remember my first train set. If I recall, it consisted of of a Lionel engine, a passenger car, and a caboose all going round and round on a 4-foot diameter circular track. Years later I became heavily involved with “HO” scale trains and complex track layouts complete with towns, bridges, train yards with round houses and a dozen or so intricate German made engines. One day I hope to travel North American and Canadian classic routes. Kick back in a fancy sleeper car, sip champaign with mysterious femme fatales (in the DINING car, of course!) and snooze frequently in warm sky cars with a never-ending landscape and blue, wispy clouds slipping by.
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It is part of an engineer’s job description to wave at children watching the train go by. My dad was a machinist for the WMRR so we lived in a company house for $1.00 a month in Maryland Junction, within feet of the rail yards until I was 8 years old and then we moved in “town” where the tracks ran within 25 yards of our back door. Loved it. We walked the tracks to the playground and I could walk them like a tightrope walker. Went barefoot in the summer and our feet were so black with coal that it took all winter to get them clean again, and then it was time to go barefoot again. I love the old coal-burning steam engine trains. Ruined many a wash on the clothesline. During WW2 saw them haul tanks and Army jeeps through town and was proud of what the trains were doing to help the war effort. My grandmother had three stars in her window, a son in the Marines, one in the Army and one in the Navy. Daddy’s job on the railroad made him exempt and he did his part by keeping the trains running smoothly. I still love the sound of a train whistle, especially at night. Lonesomest and most soul-stirring sound in the world.
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Ah, man… I lived near railroad tracks twice in my life, first in Chesapeake, Virginia where I rented what can only be described as a tiny, dilapidated country cottage approximately 30×30 feet square. The rent was cheap, my day job was close by, and there was plenty of land for a sprawling Roto-Tiller garden. The clapboard cabin rattled and shook when a Norfolk & Southern train passed by. After moving to Baton Rouge a few years later, I purchased a house whose backyard butted up against a railroad track; twice a day the Chessie Line thundered by. A nearby crossroads assured the engineer blew his whistle before each passing. What a wonderfully comforting sound even late at night, although visitors and guests had a difficult time dealing with it. While living there I eventually got a beautiful half-boxer, half-Labrador Retriever mutt who remained my faithful companion for 17 years. I named her Chessie.
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Aw yes the train! We lived close to the track when I was a child. Thanks to the blessings of being a child, It rarely woke me at night! Beautiful writing!
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Thank you! Only people who have lived near railroad tracks will understand.
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I especially love this one too — it’s so personal and makes us feel the experience so wonderfully! God bless your mom. And you.
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Such a nice story. What a wonderful Mom. I’m so sorry about your loss.
Thank you for sharing.
jodie from MO
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I appreciate that. And thanks for sticking with me all these years.
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Such wonderful memories! I’ve lived close to train tracks most of my life, except when my husband and I lived in southern Texas and Japan during his Navy days. An old steam engine went through our small town last year, and you could feel that train coming. It stopped at our little depot and while pictures of it were being taken, we came home to watch it go by one last time. It gave us chills hearing and seeing the smoke billowing. Thanks for the memories!
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Thanks, Judy. Like I replied to crazyjane57, “Only people who have lived near railroad tracks will understand.” 🙂
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Brings back lots of memories.I remember when a train was switching cars at the elevator the hobos would come to the houses in our town for food. Many times I sat and talked to them out on the step while they ate their pbj sandwich.
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Memories are treasures to be shared. Unless they are passed along as the world rushes ahead and the current generation of travelers discover their own, those from the past will be forgotten. Thank you for sharing.
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