12 May 2014
Any boy who grew up in a time when boys wandered all around unsupervised and unregimented knows the pleasure of hanging around railroad tracks. Such a boy could never articulate the nature of that pleasure or the reasons for that pleasure. Neither can I.
This stretch that runs along the south boundary of the farm is far from any roads. To get there you go down along a fence at the end of a cornfield either on foot or in the John Deere Gator, nothing more than a glorified golf cart really. You spend some time tossing rocks or laying some coins on the track to be squashed by the next freight train or just sitting. You soon forget how old you are. It is that same old pleasure.
It can work for girls, too, I'm told.