I'll
forever be able to see the train ride in Nathan's eyes
by Carol Schott Martino
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As other children played in the aisles, Nathan kept his face glued to the train window. He must have exclaimed 100 times, "Look, Grandma, look!" as he cupped his little hands around my chin and pointed my nose out the window. |
I'll forever be able
to see the train ride in Nathan's eyes
by Carol Schott Martino
| The train's lonesome whistle
was always mystical and magical as it approached my grandparents' house
in Clifton, Illinois. Grandma's needle continued to gracefully slip
in and out of stitches as she crocheted lacy handerchiefs. And, Grandpa's
eyes didn't move from the latest events that captured his attention
as he gripped the newspaper. But I, like most kids, was totally fascinated with a train coming through the middle of town - especially the one in Clifton, which was just a stone's throw from my grandparent's home.In the summertime, I'd run outside, hoping to get a glimpse of the engineer or a friendly wave from the bib-overalled men riding the wind on the caboose. Grandma always warned, "Don't get too close," as I pushed through the screen door. Now, nearly 40 years later, I am still fascinated with trains. So you can imagine the ache of nostalgia as my own grandson, who was visiting his great-grandpa, ran exclaiming to me, "The train's coming, grandma!" Nathan is a little more than four years old and lives in Maryland. He, too, is fascinated with trains. The fact that such a massive generation gap can totally close for us with the sound of an iron beast roaring through town amazes me - especially in the age of Power Rangers and Super Nitendo. He spent a week with me this summer, and one afternoon we boarded the Amtrak at Pontiac, Illinois, and took a three-hour ride to Alton. We stayed the night there at the Holiday Inn Holidome, which is conveniently across from the depot. Then we took the silver rails home late the next day. Let me tell you, if you haven't taken your favorite child on an Amtrak ride, make it a priority. And if you have more than one "favorite" child, take them one at a time. The convenience of a car or the speed of an airplane can't compare to the leisurely ride on a train. With no traffic to fight and no jet lag, all you have to do is sit back, relax and listen to the hungry wonder and pure delight spill from the youngster's eyes. Because, from the window of a train, the ordinary suddenly become the extraordinary. I'll admit that somewhere at the root of this trip I was hoping to gift Nathan with a Midwestern sense of simple beauty. And what better way to see that beauty than from the huge belly of a train -- the farms and barns and windmills, the thick chicory that blooms along the way like a lavender sea that never ends, the Queen Anne's lace that becomes its graceful white caps. And beyond that, the splendid cornfields and beanfields that stretch for miles and would never again look so green to this grandchild of mine. Of course, I realize that my well-meaning gift would probably remain in the deepest pink of my fantasies - unclaimed. In reality, I know that an energetic four-year-old boy growing up at today's accelerated pace could possibly be totally bored with an old-fashioned train ride. So, just in case Nathan got antsy, I packed a few of those pre-school sticker-book "enrichment" activities in his little bookbag. A soft August mist fell, and grey skies threatened to pour down torrents of rain as the train pulled away from Pontiac. But it didn't dampen the day a bit. Nathan was beaming with anticipation as he climbed aboard. Railing south, we watched the depot disappear in the distance. Then we settled into our seats. Actually, the round trip was much better than I ever dreamed it would be -- expanding beyond the dancing windmills and thick patches of chicory and into the captivating throes of six hours of nose-pressed-against-the-window as we rolled through the Midwest. It was as if the train ride tamed Nathan's restless energies and unbridled his imagination at the same time. As if the train itself was giving magic away by the handfuls. As if Nathan was smitten by a world suddenly painted in rose -- or perhaps the deepest pink of my own fantasies. While slicing through the landscape, he must have exclaimed 100 times, "Look, Grandma, look!" as he cupped his little hands around my chin and pointed my nose out the window. It was only then that I realized a train has a life of its own. And, it breathes that life into every single speck on the map that's in its path. I don't know how else to describe it. When riding in a vehicle, a cow is a cow to Nathan now. At four, he doesn't get too excited about them anymore. But, from the window of that train, cows began to dance in the pasture. They did a little two-step as the mind framed them going by. And when blackbirds scattered from a tree, it was only to clove the air in dance to a clickety-clack symphony. Approaching each town, Nathan was fascinated with the haunting sound of the horn warning people to stand by. When people stopped at the flashing crossarms, they seemed to be waiting just for Nathan to go roaring by. And, when children in those cars waved, it tickled him to get a fleeting glimpse of their excitement as he waved back. He was thrilled with the train's speed as it rattled along the tracks, going faster than he'd ever imagined. "We're passing everything, Grandma, everything... Look, Grandma, look, the trees are running from us," he exclaimed with peals of laughter. And he wanted to know the name of every town we passed through. A few minutes after pulling out of Lincoln on the return trip, he noticed a pile of railroad ties. "Look, Grandma, Lincoln logs," he said in excitement. And I laughed and laughed about that. What fascinated me most was that Nathan, in this "let's-go-somewhere, do-something" day and age, didn't want to go anywere. He didn't want to do anything. Because he was already there, wherever there was. And he was already doing it, whatever it was. That short round-trip train ride held more glory for a four-year-old and more enrichment than any sticker-book activities packed in the biggest of book bags could ever hold. But, let me warn you, once we got home, Nathan's tameless energies quickly went from reverse to high gear. Suddenly, he wanted to go somewhere, anywhere, and he wanted to do something, anything. The adventure of that train ride was already moving down the tracks of his mind and not looking back... at least for the time being. You know, the older I get, the more I realize that we're not sure of much in this world. But one thing I'm pretty sure of is that some day, maybe when I'm no longer around, Nathan will hear the lonesome whistle of a train in the distance. And somewhere, in the mist of his memory, that golden summer day we spent aboard the Amtrak will flourish like the sound of trumpets, maybe even a full orchestra - clickety-clack, clickety-clack from Pontiac to Alton and back. He may not remember the landscape or beanfields or the chicory mixed with Queen Ann's lace growing along the railroad tracks of the Midwest. But, perhaps he will remember me, his grandma. Maybe it will be the scent of my hair, the color of my hat or the way I tenderly held him as he looked out the window of the train that afternoon. In my heart, I know that something, something really sweet, will come from that trip. Because somewhere, sometime, Nathan will be rolling along in this clickety-clack world and a memory clear as a child's eyes, will visit the quiet of his mind. And, for one brief moment, his heart will pound in his throat like an echo, green as a Midwest summer, and it will sing, "Look, Grandma, look!"
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Carol Schott Martino, Assoc. Editor
Writer, Photographer
About the writer.
. .
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Carol
Schott Martino has been writing feature stories and columns
Order Carol's book, Schott at Sunrise |
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www.writeonmag.com
