Trains

Trains.

Bellingham has them. Tracks snake throughout town. You can be just about anywhere and hear them call. They run right by my AirBnB, passing at any hour of the day and nigh, rattling the house and sending a thunderous roar through it's rooms. Some might find that tiresome and disruptive. I don't. I like the trains.

Years ago, before I was even born, my dad was an engine driver. He didn't speak about that time often, but when he did it was always with happy nostalgia. For years, Christmas decorations were not complete without dad setting up our mini-train village. My sisters and I would often find new tiny trains under the Christmas tree to add to our collection. At the time, I wasn't able to muster quite the same level of enthusiasm as my dad did, but they were fun. Now it is I who smile with sweet recollections any time I see toy trains chugging through a Christmas village. The same goes for the sight of real trains cutting their way through the country. Trains remind me of my dad.

There is another reason I love trains. I am not quite sure I'll be able to adequately transform the emotions I feel into words but I'll try.

Trains have a mystery. They are full of secrets they'll never share. Their tracks lay a path in which it's possible to step into another time; where once they were only means to 'quickly' get from New York to California, or filled with luxury they pushed their way through the snow laden mountains of Europe. Circuses were possible because of trains. Their miles of cars - making up the tightrope walkers nest, the clowns reprise, the homes (albeit horrid ones) of the show's lions, tigers and bears - the only way they were able to jump from town to town.

Trains saw the world. They still do; roaming steadily amidst cities, cutting through mountain tunnels, crossing roaring rivers and trickling streams. For decades they've tasted some of our most exciting stories and felt the sorrow of some of our deepest tears. They were hope to all the runaways who risked their lives by jumping aboard, counting on the train to carry them into a better life.

The trains running past my window aren't bringing people closer to adventure, but there is still in their depths something that calls to my wandering soul. I can't help but listen for them and, one day, I just might answer their call.

~*~*~