Walking through the Evergreen Park was a daily ritual on school days while I was growing up, and when my husband stopped at the entrance, I impulsively asked if he would mind if I strolled down that old familiar trail. He good naturedly obliged and off I went. This vast, lush green park was like an oasis in the prairie setting we lived in, and it was a pleasure to get to walk through this area before reaching the business section of town and later where the schools were located. This time I was doing this trip in reverse, and my heart was lilting a silent melody as I strolled down Memory’s Lane.
A short ways past the edge of the park we children often had to wait for the train to go past while going home for our noon meal. It was so much fun waving to the conductor in his gray and white striped hat and matching coveralls, because he would respond just as enthusiastically. (Wonder where he is now?)
As I walked, the serene yet lonesome cry of the train whistle could be heard in the distance. This, to, was a familiar sound and as I drew nearer the sound increased in volume. I wish I could describe my feelings as I saw that train rumbling into view. Soon it reached from one horizon to the other while the sun was slowly going down in the far west. I stood there, just a tiny figure in comparison, looking on.
There was something symbolic about this memory; something powerful that I am trying to analyse. The train separated me from my childhood, as it were, since our house was on the other side. Was it carrying away all the ‘garbage’ from my past to a place far out of sight? Was it carrying me into a future long and bright with promise? I am not sure, but I found the experience moving.
+Trains +Memories +Parks
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