Coal Train Dreams

Author's note: Lack of inspiration may be the reason my blog has been dormant since around Thanksgiving. So I've decided to reach into my writing archives to share this dream of sorts with you. I hope it will brighten your day in this, a normally cold, dark and blah time of year. By the way, artist Colleen Nelson and musician Michael Gettel are key motivators for this piece -- Colleen, who allowed me so often to crash on her couch where I dreamed, and Michael, whose song "Through the Doorway" is an accompaniment to my story. His music resonates each time I revisit this dreamy scene. A heartfelt thanks to them! 💖

A gentle nudge by the dog awakened me on a chilly January morning in the country. I reached down to pat my canine companion, and as I opened my still-sleepy eyes and gazed out the window, I saw light snowflakes falling from a gray sky. They looked as though they were tiny dancers, waltzing gracefully in an early winter performance. Surely, there would be an encore later in the day, I mused.

I smiled as the dog lifted her head and gave me an unexpected kiss, a slow, wet lick across my forehead. One or two pats were not enough attention to please her, so I continued to stroke her head as I closed my eyes again to contemplate the activities of the day ahead.

Certainly the dog would need to be fed, and after I’d sampled a cup of hot coffee, I’d dress warmly and take some oats and water to the horses. Already, through the window I could see the two stately ladies standing near the barnyard gate, waiting patiently for their breakfast. I wondered if a fresh bale of hay needed to be hauled from the barn.

There was no need to hurry, I decided, since I was warm and comfortable beneath my blankets. The dog wandered off and I rolled over, drifting in and out of sleep.

My ears suddenly caught the sound of the morning train in the distance, its horn echoing across the valley and up the hill as the engine struggled to haul the load of coal northward from the mines in West Virginia.

The symphony of the sounding klaxon sparked my vivid imagination.

In my mind’s eye, I could see the black-and-white Norfolk Southern train emerge from the rustic White Cottage Tunnel, thundering from the narrow passage toward the Tunnel Road crossing. The rumbling caused spikes of ice to fall from the cliffs near the tunnel, and several deer were startled and ran from their hillside perch.

Somehow, I could see the huge, coal-laden cars rolling along the shiny tracks, over the dirt road that came down the steep hill on its way to a lonely highway.

As I lie in my snug berth, my thoughts carried me with the coal train as it continued toward Holbrook, a bucolic village just off the railway. Beyond, the line clung to a hillside across the valley from the highway and above the springs that were a source of Ten Mile Creek.

As clearly as I could have watched the scene on a television, I could see the train as it slowly crossed the first trestle near the high school, move around a sharp, banked curve and onto the second bridge not far from the school’s football field. The train appeared to hang precariously from the high and narrow bridge, and I was relieved when it finally crossed the viaduct without incident.

Next, I felt myself sailing through the air ahead of the train, watching as it rolled past Rogersville and through a narrow cut in a large hill. My imagination carried me far ahead of the train, so much so that I could see only the tracks. Yet the sound of the locomotive told me it soon would rejoin me.

I imagined I stood along the trestle over Oak Forest Road, my arms resting on the edge of the bridge with my feet planted firmly on the sloping ground that led to the road below. The railroad tracks where the train soon would pass were only a few feet away, and in minutes, the thundering behemoth would sail dangerously close to my location.

As my heart raced in anticipation, I imagined holding my  camera, waiting for that perfect moment when the lumbering giant would be upon me. The ground began to shake as the train appeared, and the horse painted on the front of the engine reminded me of the stampede of rail cars that closed on me.

I could feel myself snap a photo as the giant machine passed near, and I backed away from the edge of the trestle, feeling exhilaration and relief with the locomotive’s passing. I watched the coal cars cross the bridge, and I grinned broadly as the train disappeared around a bend beyond the trestle.

Abruptly, I was awakened from my fantasy with a wet kiss from my friendly canine companion. The dog had returned, seeking attention and her breakfast.

I knew it was time to rise, but I held  with me the magic of the morning railroad excursion. In the distance, I heard faintly the sound of the engine’s horn as the train moved away. I smiled and gave the dog a light pat. There would be a chance to ride the rails another day.