Monday, January 17, 2011
Train whistles and water.
The railroad and water have always been two big parts of my life. The sound of a train whistle echoing off the mountains or the sounds of the running water of the river are music to my ears. Some visitors to Rowlesburg complain of the train whistles but at night they sound like a lullaby to my ears. The first thing I look at in the morning is the river. I grew up in a family where you were taught to "read the river". My Grandma would read the river twice a day. Reading the river consisted of walking down a trail to the river's edge and making observations of the river's height on a gauge. I remember different times going with my Grandmother to read the river and when I was older and at her house she would let me take the trail down the riverbank to read the gauge. When my Dad starting canoeing and kayaking and bought David and I our own kayaks we were taught to "read the river" again. The skill of knowing what is creating each wave is essential to running a river. The railroad family has a language of its own. I come from a family of three generations of railroaders so I learned the railroad language early. I understand the different jobs on the railroad, how track is built and repaired, how a train runs, why they derail, and the dangers of the job. I visited my Dad and Grandad at work. Rob worked for the railroad for a brief time. I like the sound of trains and watching them go by car by car. When Rob and I bought our house in Ormond. I mentioned to Rob how much it felt like home. He said it has everything you need. I asked him what that was, he said train whistles and water.
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Completely agree! People ask how we can stand living near the railroad with the whistle. Barely even think about it as a pain. When people are worried about flooding, we look at the river and say Nah, still got a few feet to go till it gets high. Love being home to hear the train and see the river.
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I could have written this post. Well, part of it anyway. Two things that are synonamous with this place and my love for it are the river and the trains. When I was a kid, I used to sit down on the memorial by the tracks ( I KNOW.. disprespctful. I was 8, didn't know that then til my Daddy lectured me on it!) and watch them go by for hours. I used to count cars. My Uncle would be at the bar across the street and he would bring me soda and a sandwich at lunch, wondering just how much longer I was going to sit there.
ReplyDeleteI LOVE trains. And the river? I have often referred to it as 'my river' .. :O)
I remember sitting outside with Shady (sp?) watching your Dad get his kayak in order to hit the river.
Whenever I just needed a place to be, away from people and life, I had a few favorite spots along the river (and the creek) where I would just sit for hours. I also used to walk the tracks up to Tray Run and just sit, and be...
I have always missed that. I cannot WAIT til the warmer weather so I can go up to Pringle Run, or go sit under the bridge with my feet in 'my river', it really is one of the simplest of joys, that makes me feel totally at peace. And it is one of the reasons that I am SO glad to be back here.
I was not born here, and my time here as a kid was short. But it made an impression on me that I was never able to let go of. And now, here I am! And I am happy.
:)
Excuse me.. my Uncle brought me POP and a sandwich. :)
ReplyDeleteI remember growing up I could here the train in a distance whistle at night, especially in the dead of winter. I would think how nice and peaceful it was. I used to spend a lot of time at the river. You never realize what you have until it's gone. I miss the old home place. I miss living in Preston County. I miss the river. I live in a housing dev. now and it's noisy, but not the nice noise of train whistles or the river. The sound of barking dogs all around me, the freeway, and neighbors. Someday (lord willing) I'll move and I hope to find a place I can have some peace and quite again.
ReplyDeleteDebra, leave to you to capture my heart with your words. I grew up three houses up (or is it down) the street from you. Good old Oak Street. Just about every family on the street had one of more railroaders. My Grandfather, Papa, was an engineer in the steam era. My great uncle, Ed Walsh was an engineer. Jim Funk, Bill Wiles, Mr. Hershman, Ab Liason, Owna Knots and Mr. Fretwell were all engineers. My cousin, Will Carrico, was an engineer. His dad, my uncle Clifford, worked at the tower with your dad. My stepfather, Joe Short, worked at the shops until it closed. I wanted to be an engineer more than anything in the world. By the time I was old enough the B&O was getting rid of the firemen so there was a surplus of people who could run engines. I had no chance. My career in education seemed to get in the way later in life when perhaps I could have fulfilled my life's dream. I used to go over the shops and bum rides on the helpers. That seemed like a different time and place, kind of a time warp. About the whistles, when I hear a train whistle now, even in Newburyport, I get a feeling that I can't describe to anyone who did not grow up with trains. It affects my mind, my body, and my spirit all at the same time. I am transported to my childhood for a moment. The echo of train whistles on Oak Street and all over the south side was magnificent. Ever consider that the whistle was a unifying artifact of our culture? When a train went through town every person in town knew it, heard it at the same time. Whether you were shopping, working somewhere in town, at home or school, at that moment in time you were connected with every other person by the sound. The river. Oh, that river. We always had boats and spent every summer "at the river." Where were you? At the river. Those not fortunate enough to grow up on a river simply cannot understand how we could spend every summer day at the river. Rain didn't matter. Been in the river many times when it was raining like hell. We didn't even notice. The river rarely flooded. We always called it "high" when it moved over its banks. A flood was marked by serious rises in the river that got into many homes and caused damage. Only remember a couple of those--the flood of '54. First time I saw the river running high down WV 72. It had gotten up into the "new" gym and half way up to Main Street. I had heard stories of the great flood of '88, 1888 that is. Naturally the flood of 1985 topped them all. Afraid of the river. No. Respected it. Yes. Without your father and my brother showing the way with kayaks most of us would have respected the narrows a little too much. I never went in the river below the railroad bridge. Of course, we called it "the bridge." Where were you? Swimming down at the bride. After the kayak crowd started running the Narrows, I jumped in! I bought a kayak from the guy in Oakland who handmade them from fiberglass. Never missed a summer for several years paddling the river. What a great and wonderful experience. Thanks for jogging my memories, Deb.
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