Our new apartment is in a nice secluded, woodsy setting. We are also located about a mile away from a well used railroad track. Several times a day, if we listen, we can hear the whistle blow and the clackity clack of the train rumbling down the tracks. It’s a nice sound . . . from a mile away.
My daughter and her family live a bit closer to the tracks. Last summer we drove from our home in Wisconsin for a family vacation with two of our daughters and their families. Knowing the house would be full of babies, Hubby and I decided it would make things easier if we set up our camping tent in the back yard. So we pitched our tent among the trees. Wow, camping in Northern Minnesota on Memorial Day weekend. How cool is that?!
The first night sleeping in the tent brought back fond memories of past camping trips. Back in Washington State. Just as we were falling asleep, we were jarred awake by the ground shaking under our air mattress. EARTHQUAKE!! (Hubby is a Seattle native). A few seconds later we heard the whistle blow, and then the rush of the train. It went on and on and on. Maybe camping near a railroad track isn’t so nice.
Sound is one of the senses that brings back memories. The sound of the train brings back a special memory for me. My maternal grandparents owned a little country grocery store in a little village consisting of their store, the post office, a church, and a grain mill. The post office sat between my grandparents store, and the railroad line. A very well used railroad line. Needless to say, at regular times during the day, things really rocked and rolled at Grandpa’s grocery store.
As young children, my sister and I had many opportunities to sleep over at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Their ‘house’ was a large apartment above their grocery store. We would sleep in the spare bedroom located near the back of the building. On the side facing the tracks. Sleeping in the spare room was an exciting and scary adventure for a couple of little girls. It was a room seldom used, so it was full of mystery. It had a dresser and a comfy old bed. Boxes of Grandma’s yarn stacked up in a corner, and the stairs to the attic added to the mystery. But the greatest excitement of sleeping in the back room was hearing and feeling the train as it made its scheduled run past Grandpa’s store.
Every time I hear the train go by our apartment, I’m transported back in time to the big old bed in the spare room above Grandma and Grandpa’s store.