I’m a night owl.  One thing I love to do in warm weather is sit outside in the wee hours of the morning.  Off in the distance I can hear trains going through the south end of town.  I’ve always loved the sound of train horns and the sound of the wheels on the track.

     Maybe my love for the sound comes from my maternal grandfather who was a railroad worker, a brakeman for the NY railroad.  I never met him.  He died when my mother was a very young girl.  I do believe it was during the flu epidemic of 1918.  Most likely because my mother barely remembered her father we know very little about him other than he’d lost a hand when two railroad cars crushed it while he worked.

     My love of trains may come from visits with my elderly aunt and uncle.  A train track passed by the end of their farm property.  I remember watching out the window by my bed, falling asleep and listening to the night trains.  I remember the clickety-clack of the wheels on the track and horns blowing as they went by.

     No matter where it comes from, the sound of a train will always be my favorite sound.