On The Right Side of the Train

When I was a little girl, we moved between California, Wisconsin, and Illinois on a fairly regular basis.  The moves were often accomplished when my dad was overseas or on his way overseas.  Mom, my sister and I would ride the" Santa Fe All the Way" train all the way cross country.  I would spend my days in the dome car, meal time in the dinner car, and evenings in a sleeping car.   Years later, with our own children, it was miniature train rides at Christmas, history trains going from Point A to Point B and back, and for the grown-ups dinner/mystery trains.  

To this day, counting train cars at a crossing is an irresistible impulse.  Of course, when the train is going 5 miles per hour at a crossing, well, that's not so great and the impulse to do a 180 becomes irresistible.  Now, living in the Bootheel, trains are not a familiar part of my life anymore.  Back home, I lived between two major tracks that went up and down the valley.  We lived maybe six miles from each of them and the mournful sound of a train whistle floating across the miles, in the night, was a comfort that I miss here.

Missing trains is an unexpected feeling I have encountered since living here.  I found a train crossing in Hayti and actually saw a train go by once.  I was visiting a friend, so that feeling of sitting and waiting didn't accompany the experience.  However, recently I found myself in Paragould, AR visiting Roger's Greenhouse and on the way, my friend, Nancy, and I crossed some tracks as we approached it's very out of the way location.  On our return trip, our vehicle loaded with flowers for our Easter altar, we followed our way back to the main road and there she was.  A train.  A slow-moving train. A long, slow-moving train.  Color me happy.  I had found myself on the right side of a train.


Most of us, I imagine, consider such stops more like being on the wrong side of a train because, of course, aren't we always in a hurry to get somewhere?  Otherwise, why would we be out?  But, counting cars has been a passion of mine for as long as I can remember.  Counting was futile in this case since the engine had long passed us by.  However, checking out the graffiti (not much of it) and types of cars gave me an interesting interlude to muse on freight train differences and what they might be carrying.  

Hauling cattle was common back home but I've barely SEEN a cow since moving here.  No cattle cars on this line appeared and that was no surprise.  And as I settled back, I enjoyed the view around me - narrow road, lots of trees and tall shrubs, unplanted fields, no buildings.  It all looked very different from my memory of trains in the countryside.

A few weeks later, I found myself in Blytheville, AR (Arkansas AGAIN) and two blocks from my beloved Blytheville Book Company. Once again, I found myself on the right side of the train.  I must admit that it was a bit of a worry this time because my friend, Sr. Sharon planned to drop me off before she went to an appointment elsewhere.  I was sure she would be late but after being reassured  that her destination was only a few blocks away, I relaxed and enjoyed the train as it slowly passed through the middle of town

Trains are a reminder to me that we don't need to be in a hurry.  Wherever it is we think we need to be, it isn't going anywhere.  Taking a breath and appreciating the clickety-clack of wheels against rails, the rhythmic sound calms me and gentles my inclination to feel it's an obstruction to the hurry-hurry clamor of daily life.  Savoring the view around us at these forced stops is a perfect opportunity to say a short prayer, notice the flowers just planted in the planter on the corner, the newly cleaned up fountain splashing merrily, or perhaps a building being rehabbed for a new business.   They are all there waiting for us to take the moment to calm our spirits and notice things instead of letting them pass us by.