Location: Looking west down Lake Street from Snelling Avenue (1:30PM)
I have always loved the ‘real’ trains. I love that it forces you to stop in your cars as it slowly makes its way…where, I wonder? Really, when you run up on one of these, it’s not something that you can dispute; it’s not someone driving slowly and missing a light – it’s not a traffic jam during rush hour (indeed, this was 1:30 in the afternoon), it’s just a moment where if the train is a bigger one, and you are lucky enough, you get to turn your car off and sit and be quiet. I’ve always enjoyed these stops. My mother, who were she still around would be 90, always talked about hopping trains when she was a teenager. She and Aunt Rosie hopped once, and then couldn’t figure out how to get back off and ended up far enough a way that Grandpa had to go collect them. That didn’t go over well. She admitted she continue to hop the train, but only to get off on the other side (this of course, is not encouraged). I always think about this when I see a train. Where would I end up if I hopped?
I see these beautiful, old relics as symbols of our neighborhood; imagery of where we came from and how this neighborhood came to be. Imagery to hold onto and reflect on, while you sit in your car, waiting.
Photo: Jean Des Marais