The light at the end of the tunnel is indeed a train coming.
My Grandpa, who passed away when I was sixteen years old, was a railroad enthusiast. He was an engineer. Not a guy who drove steam trains down the tracks, but an electrical engineer who worked for Ma Bell his entire forty-two year career. I believe he enjoyed his job. His love was trains.
He and Grandma took a month-long honeymoon, mostly by rail that included the Grand Canyon and other sites. Christmas and birthday gifts were easy to settle on, so long as we could find a book or video about trains. He and I once visited a model train show at our convention center. We took a ride on a train that traveled to nowhere and back so you could have dinner and enjoy the ride.
It’s only natural he would decide to build a model train, and he did. In 1967 he took the plunge and began construction on 320 feet of portable train track in his back yard. The rail was purchased from a specialty company in Michigan, the authentic trucks (wheels) and couplers from Pennsylvania. Taking his cue from catalogs, magazines and blueprints provided by manufacturers, his first car was a hand-cranked hopper, suitable for riding.
This allowed diversion for the grandchildren while he focused on building an electric power engine with a diesel facade. I’ll never understand why it was bright orange, but we’ve kept it that way ever since. The wiring inside is a mystery to us but each time we pull it out of the garage, attach two 12-volt car batteries and flip the seemingly ancient wooden lever it comes to life. Soon there was an additional flat car and a caboose built from a toy box.
This past week we set up Grandpa’s train again, leaving out 60 feet of track to get it to fit in the smaller yard, and discovering that it made no difference. My eight-year-old daughter was eager to be the chief conductor, her cousin was always in the same seat anytime it ran and, true to form, my four-year-old became enamored only after a couple of days of study, consideration, introspection and, finally, leap of faith.
I had a bit of a moment when my daughter told me that her stuffed animals would be riding in the caboose, heads sticking out. That was where we had always put our as children but I hadn’t even prompted her it was the right thing to do.
And I drove the train. Almost as much as my daughter did. The electric motor whirrs like no other sound in my life; grinding in the low gear to get the slippery wheels turning and humming in the high position with a ferocity that provides a low growl to the ear and steady buzz in the seat. The rails have a song of their own, a futuristic swoosh like how I imagine those electric cars might run when I read Popular Mechanics many years ago – but much more real, a true ringing in your ears. Yet it is ethereal, too, beyond anything near to my daily life. I hopped on one afternoon when everyone else was occupied and let the sounds take me …
Once the track is set the ride will run for hours, and often did. Five grandsons would pile in and ride the wild rails. Smooth and fast (it seems), it never got boring, even though it was the same view over and over again. We could chase baseballs with bats, pretend to be going coast to coast or just lay down in the long flatcar and rest while the sunlight danced on our lids. It has a light for night driving; a near mystical experience of cool air, lighting bugs and blinking stars behind the trees. Sometimes the rides would end only once Grandma came and literally pulled the plug; reaching in to seize an enormous, outdated fuse that makes the entire contraption work, or not. We all knew where it was kept, but when it had been commandeered in this fashion it would require permission to be retrieved, inserted and bring the beast back to life.
I turned forty years old this year and I am in the interesting state of being anxious about the future and drawn to the past. It’s not a unique phenomenon. Books and essays have been written about it for ages. The trick is to discover what strengths of our history we are being called to utilize without being stuck there and simultaneously have enough faith in the future to belie our self doubts about the impact of our lives. This occurs to me while I am taking innumerable revolutions around the circuit, focusing, as I did years ago, on the rails just in front of the cab; watching the ties fly past and the rails guide the unseen wheels without fail. The white noise and gentle rocking (perhaps aided by the glass of wine previously consumed) led me to simple meditation in motion.
And this, among all the memories of bats and balls, construction and mechanics, childhood enthusiasm and exhaustion was the memory that rose to the top. It is not the blithe, almost cliché concept of being able to “act like a kid.” Finding the joy of childhood is a folly, for we are never that child again. Even when we are still a kid, we are not the same kid. When the train is set up again and I am twelve instead of nine or six or four, it’s an entirely different experience. When I am fourteen and helping Grandpa set it up, just him and me, for what will be the final time it is new all over again. When I am forty and suddenly responsible (in association with my own Dad, who helped the original designer bend the rails from straightaway into curve by hand) with making the contraption safe enough for the small children who will run from far and wide to take a ride, it feels like an anachronism. Can I really be in this role?
In meditation, I am all of these roles at the same time. It is not youth I am seeking; it is permission to spend time exploring the space between things and between activities. I was fortunate that Grandma didn’t come out after just a few minutes to slow the action, claiming we must engage our minds more. She came long after we were allowed to go beyond the simple tasks of playing. There, without interruption or even wondering what we were doing and, especially, without asking why we were doing it, we found peace and contemplation and expansion and mystery and joy and enlightenment. Rhythm, light, motion, noise, blur and mechanics combined to allow us transcendence.
Now, reaching back from atop that bright orange machine tracing a track built by loving hands before I was born, I find renewal. Enough blasé commentary about midlife and how it should make me feel; here is the tangible question, action and answer all in one odyssey. What should I remember? Why this desire to reflect back on my life? By building a train, literally, we take action. It is tangible in the present and based on the past. It serves others and ourselves, if we let it. It teaches: Remember not the emotions, but the connections and fundamental insights that all people have and children retain closer to the surface. The emotions are a siren, calling us back to the knowledge that we are One and capable of all things. Take action to recall these talents, this fundamental strength, the empowerment of man by God.
Sometimes spiritual action looks like play. It’s not. It’s the work of living openly, honestly, lovingly, and emotionally. All aboard.
Comments
Yes and yes. I didn’t get back on the train as I’m still “too busy” with the little ones to dare tip it over in the far turn, but ah, those sounds. Yes, THAT sound, too.
Yes, somethings never seem to change and are ageless….like a train built by my Dad. I know he was watching with great joy and love for us all. Thanks for capturing all of the special feelings associated with “the train”
Thanks David for the memories. There are so many other little details associated with the train. The life with the train was wonderful, different and special. In 2009 having someone remember it and express those memories is great. Thank you for doing it. This will be kept for me to revisit many times. Next time the train is set up I do so want to be a witness to it.
This is wonderful. I am just happy I could be part of the celabration.
After several readings, I’m sensing much of what you describe. What power your words have to share so much with others. To be a published writer, a “not-ignored” critic? This writing should be!
Thank you for all you give. Am grateful for all so many give that we can all enjoy and feel and experience. Next time I’m driving too!!
Very well put David. It was great to see everyone enjoy it so much. I am happy to be a part of the tradition now. Even if it is the ” Gandy Dancer Division” I think we have a new 4th tradition. The neighbors and their grandkids will probably be watching & waiting.
You said it, Bob, the neighbors will be watching and waiting till next year. Thanks for sharing the recollections, David, and our grandchildren thank you for sharing your treasure. For me, watching the train from our yard down the way and hearing that whistle was pure magic!!!!!!!
I will never forget the spring break I spent with Uncle Vic and Aunt Ruth. He had just received the caboose by mail order and I got to help paint it bright red. I was probably 7, but I remember it vividly. I loved riding the train. I never understood why it was never set up for Christmas…train…Christmas…oh, maybe it was a bit cold to be putting the track together, eh? Thanks for the memories…Kathryn would love to ride the train next time it’s up!!
What a wonderful and insightful story. I, too, live with train enthusiasts big and little. There’s just something about trains – the magic, the wonder, the romanticism, the journey that is life – that I love. There are miles of wooden and lego tracks winding their way around the floor of our family room. There’s an O gauge layout being constructed along the ceiling of our entertainment room. We chase freight and passenger trains up and down the Hudson on our waverunners, trying to get them to honk their horns at us. And of course we occaisionally ride them into the city for a family outing. It sounds like your family has greatly benefitted from the tradition begun by your grandfather. How wonderful that you are keeping his spirit alive in such a meaningful way!
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