History. A few years ago, on a warm spring afternoon, I was privileged to a glimpse of time before I existed. On the backend of the city, like the spot between your shoulder blades you know is there but cannot reach easily, the old train yard sits, a vacant observer to progress.
Trains on regular commuter and travel routes rumbled by on schedule, ignoring the evidence of their ancestry that sits behind the doors of the shop no one enters anymore.
The voices that once called out above the noise of iron and heat are silent now and names have been lost to the years. The machinery housed here are relics of technology no longer used but no less impressive in stature and contribution to the region’s progress.
Man’s ability to forge these engines and cross the country on the rails was a feat that forever changed the world as it was then. And for those who have eyes to see, these whispers of a previous era are esteemed.
HardWriteTurn 