Song for a winter's night

Being trackside or on a train on a cold winter's evening makes me a bit sentimental, I must admit. It makes me think of the ways Gordon Lightfoot was able to conjure the feeling one gets on a cold, dark Canadian winter evening. 

The lamp is burnin' low upon my table top
The snow is softly falling
The air is still in the silence of my room
I hear your voice softly calling

Somehow, to me, you can't have a cold, dark winter's evening in this country without the lonely call of a train making its way through the snow, bringing people together and out from under the grip of the season's sometimes harsh and seemingly relentless grip.

I like that line about someone "softly calling." I can't properly describe the feeling I felt when I was young and I could hear the Chessie System freight trains motoring through my hometown at night, as their horns would nudge me awake. 

They were softly calling. 

It's not unlike when I heard the foghorn from the passing Great Lakes freighters on the St. Clair River. It's something that's always comforted me and made me feel as though all was right with the world. That feeling is hard to come by, as you get older.

Being sentimental doesn't obscure the fact that there are serious problems with our passenger rail system right now in this country, but I wanted to briefly try to describe what a cold, dark winter's night does to me, especially when it's combined with my love of railways.

Recently, I took my daughter to Montreal for a Habs game. I will get into all the railway moments from that day in a later post, but I will share these brief observations. On the way home, after our train arrived more than 20 minutes late at Montreal's Central Station, my daughter and I got into the cab control car of our Venture set as we set off for home in Ottawa.

Being at the very end of the can control car, we could hear the train's horn continually, especially when it sped through Eastern Ontario villages like Casselman, Vankleek Hill and Vars. That had me wondering if people in these communities took any comfort in hearing our train speed by on a cold winter night.

Or were they annoyed? 

It seems more and more people are now inconvenienced by a train horn. That's just not me. The train, to me, is a powerful symbol of our vast nation, and it continues to play a role in keeping us together, despite our internal differences, regional cultures, languages, creeds and differing outlooks. Not all of us have the same affection for Via Rail, but I think we all have a certain appreciation for what trains do for us, even if much of this work is done out of sight and in general anonymity. The geography of our country is challenging to say the least.

Standing trackside, waiting for a loved one, bouncing on your toes to keep them from freezing, watching your breath get stripped away from you by the fierce winds . . . it's a feeling that transcends generations. It's no different than what people did 100 years ago, with the exception of the mode of transportation to and from the train station. My chariot no longer requires a horse, but I'm sure it shivers just the same in the wind. This mere act of waiting for someone connects me with our country's storied past.

There's another factor we don't often consider. What about those people operating the train? I often wonder what goes through their minds as they do their work to get their customers or their goods from place to place. I wonder on those winter nights, when people are under the covers, dreaming warm dreams, if the bleary eyed people keeping the country moving feel the same way Gordon Lightfoot felt when he wrote Song for a winter's night. 

Do they wish they were with loved ones, enjoying a quiet moment in front of a roaring fire? Or do they take pride in the thrill of movement, as their motorized charge pierces the darkness and sprints to its next stop? Or is it just a job? I find it hard to believe that anyone would work these hours and not feel some sort of duty or excitement in their vocation. I don't know that you just decide to be a railroader without feeling something for trains.

There is so much uncertainty in the world right now. Our country has problems, both internal and external. Yet, as uncertainty mounts and hockey games become geopolitical proxy wars, I sometimes just feel like we should appreciate the constants and the eternal truths. 

Trains are as much a part of our country's history, heritage and soundtrack as anything. Their presence makes me grateful for this big, beautiful country. They make me grateful because they bring good people together and remind us of what it means to be human, to want to be somewhere, to want to be with someone, to share a moment, to love. 

I say all this because there's so much vitriol and hatred in the world right now. I think sometimes we need to remind ourselves of how liberating it is to be grateful for what we have. Trains make me feel that way.