Sweatshirts and Train Whistles

Today is Saturday. I can sleep in but my body is still set on my work week schedule. So I’m awake. My ceiling fan is on like it is every night but my room felt stuffy so while it was still dark, I opened my window and crawled back into bed and under the covers.

As I lie here my mind drifts between many things. I need to pick up sticks in my side yard so I can mow. It’s a huge task as I had 8 trees taken down in the fall. It was as though massive tree bombs went off as they smashed into the ground. They were very big and once-upon-a-time, very beautiful.

I think about the rain that is moving in that will dampen my intention to clean my yard. I think about the wedding taking place tonight and how the bride might be feeling because it’s going to rain on her wedding day. I think about my job tonight where I will make sure the wedding party has an enjoyable evening regardless of the rain.

Then I hear the train whistle.

There’s something special about a train whistle that reaches my very soul. When I was growing up in a town on the western shore of Lake Michigan, I’d lie awake at night and listen to fog horns and ships to the east of me and train whistles to the west. Those sounds were more soothing to me than any lullaby.

As I lie here I feel the cool dampness of what is coming, and along with the train whistles, I’m now a young girl in Minnesota. We spent a good portion of our summers there at my grandparents’ home. This town had many trains travel right through the middle of it on any given day. There was a factory whistle that would go off to designate when work started, ended, and at 11:00 for lunch. Church bells chimed throughout the day as well. All beautiful sounds to this girl.

in Minnesota at my grandparents’ home

The coolness of the mornings there, even during the summer months, required a sweatshirt. Maybe even an additional windbreaker or jacket. By mid afternoon, you would be sweating so off it would go. But it wouldn’t be long before the sweatshirt was pulled back over my head. It provided not only warmth but a shield against mosquitoes that could put a hummingbird to shame because size. Not really, but really. They are huge.

I looked forward to getting up early and putting on my sweatshirt when it was my designated day to go fishing with Dad. We kids took turns. It was wonderful. We’d bring home strings of fish that would take hours to clean. Or, so it seemed to a little girl. Bluegill, walleye, sunfish, bass, northern pike, and more were the highlight of every meal. But breakfast was the best. Breakfast would consist of fried fish, fried potatoes, fried eggs, toast, and oatmeal or cream of wheat. Nothing beat those breakfasts except for one cooked over a campfire.

my little brother

Today is a sweatshirt kinda day. In between the rain, I’ll attempt to clean my yard. I’ll listen for those train whistles and I’ll remember those days of old when I was a young girl in Minnesota, slipping on a sweatshirt in those early morning hours to go fishing with my dad.

proud of my little catch of the day

Have a blessed day. Let your day be filled with good memories while making new ones. ♥️


6 thoughts on “Sweatshirts and Train Whistles

  1. My favorite memory of being by my grandparents. They lived across the field from the train station that my grandpa worked at. Waking every morning to the sounds of the trains coming and going.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Trains remind me of my childhood. Summer nights I’d leave my window open and I’d hear a train in the distance. It was kind of unique because nothing was around there. But I’d listen and sometimes my mom would say it must be headed through this place or that place.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Awesome memories. My grandparents lived about a quarter mile from the Chicago to New Orleans line tracks in northeast Mississippi. Like some Bob Dylan song

    Liked by 1 person

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