Trains Remind Me Of My Roots

Today I decided to get back to my family tree research. While I was recording some of the history, I started thinking about whether my ancestors ever imagined having a descendent who might be fascinated with their lives. Did they feel a need to connect with their past too? What makes me feel connected to my family history?

There are times when certain smells or sounds can transport us to another place or time. For me it’s the sight or sound of a train. Trains remind me of my roots. My great-grandfather worked as a switchman for the railroad. He was killed on the job at 29 years of age when he became trapped between two moving box cars. His son, my grandfather, rode box cars around America when he was a teenager. Almost 50 years later he was almost killed by a train while he was in a car crossing the tracks. He survived but was never the same afterwards.

My father was a conductor for the railroad. Many of his buddies were railroaders too and their lives always seemed to revolve around the railroad. When my father died, he was buried in a cemetery next to railroad tracks. His grave sits only feet away from the tracks. When I go there, it’s not unusual to have a train pass by. There have been times when the conductor blows his horn as he passes. It always feels like my dad saying hello to me.