I love emails like this one from Diane. Makes me wish I could go back to the starting place and experience all of the things I might have done, but didn’t.
I have a technicolor picture of me running through the brambles with Diane.
It is comforting that the treasures chest thread has brought so many of us together in a kindred way. I feel like I know that girl who played with hobos. f
My grandfather was a train engineer. He used to do a big train whistle out of town so my grandmother could hear to let him know he was on the way, and she’d tell me to take off running. I would run like the dickens through the bramble, and meet his train on the edge of Lewistown, Mt., and he would stop it to a complete halt, then let me on, and I got to drive the train all the way through Lewistown, Mt., then I would hop off, with the train building steam and run back to grandma’s house. Never fell once. I remember the train would slow down slow, then come to a complete halt like how I think warm waters halt.
One of my favorite things to do is go in to town and have lunch with the “young hobos” who hop the trains out of Colorado Springs. My Sunday hobo church. They grab food from people coming out of the cafes and eat it up like morsels form heaven. Took me only a day to adjust to their routine. They are brilliant poets, just like Forrest. A few are banjo players, and they are peaceful, but not for the meek. They are totally free to ride the rails to the next adventure, and I live vicariously through them, as I also love the rails.
I’m new to the chase, and am having fun studying my stacks of maps, and the poem, and I giggle a lot when I wonder- “What would Bubba do?”