The Train Whisperer

When I was a little girl I thought my dad was a train whisperer. He had an amazing ability to call trains to him. We’d be driving somewhere and suddenly dad would say in a sing-song voice, “Here Train. Come on, Train.” Seconds later a train would appear along the tracks and I’d be dazzled by the magic of it all.

As I grew older I realized my dad saw the trains coming and called to them to entertain me. It didn’t shatter my love of trains, however.

My love began much earlier, when I was a baby. My mom and I would take the train to visit my dad while he helped build Whistler in the late ’70s. The ramble of the tracks and the wow of the horn must have imprinted on my soul. The sound of a train horn on a rainy night still fills me with deep love. It’s so visceral I can taste it.

The pull of the tracks even brought me thisclose to becoming a conductor in my mid-20’s — and then other doors opened. I don’t discount the path completely. Perhaps I’ll revisit the choice again in the future. Until then, there’s plenty of track for me to travel, literally and figuratively.

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