OK, I’ll admit that I’m not the most consistent columnist in the world. I have been asked in the grocery, at the gas station and yes, even at McKneely’s, “When are you going to write another story for the Echo?” So, here goes.

Since I’ll be traveling quite a bit in the coming weeks, let’s imagine St. Helena Parish as a transportation hub, where the railroad brought in people, goods and money. Imagine a conductor yelling, “All aboard !” as the chug-chug-chug of a steam locomotive carries you away from these rolling, piney hills to some other place.

Way before I could remember, and even before my parents could remember, there were railroads in St. Helena. The train ran through Greensburg and the train ran through Grangeville. If I’m not mistaken, the train ran through Montpelier. (I’m sure someone will let me know if I’m wrong.) I can recall my parents pointing to openings in the trees and saying, “That’s where the railroad was,” but even for them it was someone else’s memory. As a young boy, I yearned to hear the whistling of a train engine. Sometimes, if I imagined hard enough, I could hear the cars rumbling in the distance and almost see the light on the front of the locomotive.

I spent hours exploring the woods around Greensburg when I was a kid. I remember the first day I discovered the old railroad. Finding the pilings in the creek down by the hospital where the trestle once stood. I look back now and I imagine those rails and those trains, transporting people away, to explore, to learn, to live. And those very same rails bringing them home again. Just like me.

16 January 2005 (posted 26 August 2016)