Train Whistle

 I’ve blogged about hearing thetrain serenade me in Eugene. The lonely sound accompanied me while I prepared dinner.

I am bordered on two sides, north and south, here in Okemos by train tracks. We have all become aware of supply chain issues—as if I’ve ever used that phrase before 2021!—and now every time I hear the train whistle blow I think: some child will be getting that special toy for Christmas. Much like the storybook The Little Engine that Could where the good little boys and girls get their wish for sweets and fun things.

I hear the whistle just as I’m settling into bed and it gives me a sense of peace—as if through the night things will keep going, the world doesn’t stop. Almost like God watching over us. The whistle is a thread that has followed me from Eugene to Okemos.

Jack in his highchair or in his wagon or sitting in my lap having a story read will look up when he hears the train horn and purse his lips to make a high-pitch sound. He notices it, too. So when I hear it, I also feel connected to him.

How many of us remember someone when we hear a train?