End of the line

 

"End of the Line," 6 x 6 acrylic on gallery-wrapped canvas

"I wanna  'Boose!" I'd exclaim as a kid when a caboose would pass by as we sat waiting at a railroad crossing.

I always notice cabooses—especially red ones. I miss them. They're icons of my youth,  Why? They were part of the mystery of growing up, I guess. 

I still paint them, and write about the, I've fantasized about having one in my back yard to escape, write, read and paint. Ah well. 

Here's the latest painting, a little late for our red-themed February show at In Your Eye Studio & Gallery in Paseo Arts District, but it'll be available there soon.

Oh, on my blog: HTTPS://CLARKCOFFEE.BLOGSPOT.COM/2012/06/CABOOSE-CONJUNCTION.HTML

End of the line, in 2020

"End of the Line," 5 x 7 watercolor Christmas card

As the pandemic year ends, and my annual greeting card project, there's one final card to share.

I've long been a fan of, actually fascinated by #cabooses--since childhood actually-- and have written about, photographed  and painting them many times. And I got to ride in one a few years ago near Park City, Utah.

I wish I lived where I could buy one, put it in the back yard, make it a studio. Search the word on this blog and you'll find plenty of examples of previous posts.

So it's more than fitting, and symbolic, that today's Christmas card is for a fellow train buff, great friend and his wife, my former colleague and good friend, Roy and Jill Kelsey.

Road of memories

Wooden caboose at Choctaw, between the old Rock Island tracks and US 62. What stories could be told on what has now become a back road.. .

Remember your train rides?

Amtrak Surfliner, California

My oldest son, M/Sgt Vance Clark, USAF, called today, riding AmTrak Surfliner up the Pacific Coast from Los Angeles to Santa Barbara.  A beautiful view. He was thinking about memorable train rides in his life and he couldn't remember the date of one.

"Remember when we were in Canada on the steam train? He asked. "When was it?"

I pulled the date and place out of my mind immediately. " "Your Mom was pregnant with Dallas, so it would have been the summer of 1971, in Winnipeg." I asked him what he remembered. At age almost six, he could remember going to the bathroom, flushing the toilet and seeing the tracks underneath, afraid of falling through.

We chatted for several minutes, each remembering train rides, he with more than me, because in the service he's been on trains in Turkey, England, the Chunnel, France  and Germany, plus time on Amtrak from Glacier National Park to Chicago to St. Louis.

"It's amazing that you remember the train rides more than any plane rides, and they're always more pleasant," he said.

The Rock Island Rocket

Got me to thinking. Earliest train ride I can remember, just barely, is at about four or five, riding with my Dad in the Rock Island Rocket from Fort Worth, through Comanche where Granddad lived, to Duncan, where he'd pick us up. I most remember dark windows and night, wondering about the people living in the lighted homes.

Of course there was one train ride my Dad would never forget, when he jumped a freight in Tucumcari in 1932, lost his grip and fell under the big steel wheels, costing him a leg. See "My Dad had a wooden leg." But he never talked about it to us. http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/search?q=wooden+leg

In Albuquerque, long ago

After that, I don't know. There's a photo of Mom, Jerry and I boarding the Santa Fe at Albuquerque to go to east Texas, but I don't remember that trip. And when I got my Cub Scout Webelos badge, they packed us onto the Santa Fe at Albuquerque and took us to Lamy near Santa Fe for the ceremony.

I do remember Neysa and I boarding Amtrak in Ardmore to go to Houston, where we picked Mom up and moved her to Waurika in the early 70s. And we road the steam train out of Chama to Cumbres Pass and back years later. http://www.cumbrestoltec.com/

Cumbfres and Toltec

Since then, I've ridden Amtrak from Washington to Philadelphia one morning to meet a professor friend. Susan and I have ridden the Amtrak Heartland Flyer to Fort Worth a couple of times (taking students one time), and took the train from Rome to Florence a few years back.  In Utah, east of Salt Lake, I rode the steam Heber Valley Railroad for a short distance, riding in the caboose all the way. http://hebervalleyrr.org/

Forest Park Railroad

Most recent was a "kiddies" train, the Forest Park Railroad,  in Fort Worth two years ago, see August, 2010 post http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/2010/08/all-aboard.html   and I road one in Elk City  and Duncan before that.

On every one of the trips I remember the scenery outside the windows, the sounds, some of the people--pleasant, relaxing. Today I value such travel for its lack of stress. Isn't that amazing? As Vance said, the only plane trips you remember are the bad experiences.

Now I'm not a real railroad buff, but no wonder I'm attracted to old steam engines,  see October post, http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/search?q=Bartlesville  and prowl old depots like the one at Waurika where we owned the newspaper--vacant then but it's become a library and museum.

 I always want to climb on old steam engines and railroad cars, am captivated by cabooses, "Where's the 'boose?' http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/2011/07/wheres-boose.html , count the freight cars going past, attend train shows, yearn for a caboose in my back yard, look down those tracks wanting to go.

North to Alaska

And this May, the Lord willing, we'll board the Yukon and White Pass steam train at Skagway.

And with Dad's art in the house, and some of my efforts, especially Christmas cards for good friends Roy and Jill Kelsey, the pull of trains is more than just a fact.


All aboard!

My Dad's scratchboard of the turntable in Fort Worth. I was there as a kid when he drew this, and he later turned it into a snow scene for a Christmas card. So many memories

My watercolor from Neruda's poem, "Is there anything sadder than a train standing in the rain?"

I wanna 'boose

“Boose. Where’s the boose?”

“Here it comes, honey. See the big red caboose? Wave at the man in the window.”

The man wore a striped long-billed cap and overalls and rode in the top of the red caboose as the last of the long freight clickety-clacked through the Fort Worth intersection. Flashing lights on the big X-shaped railroad crossing  sign would soon stop. But the man smiled and waved at the little boy in the front seat of the car, hanging out the window to watch the train.

I’ve wanted a caboose ever since--even though trains no longer have them. Cabooses are victims of technology and change. I guess I am too.

Every  time I see a caboose--usually at a chamber of commerce office these days, it catches  my attention. A caboose draws me like a magnet. 

I’ve prowled over vacant ones parked on sidings in weedy railroad yards, captivated and saddened by the peeling paint, cracked leather on seats, the sullen smell of coal and diesel and grime. Smells of memories and miles.

 Climbing up steel steps, I yearn to ride in the cupola looking down the track over the swaying tops of box cars, toward the distant locomotive, spewing steam and smoke as it goes around a curve.

Cabooses are bright sunshine and memories.

You can buy a caboose these days--although the wooden ones are almost long gone. I hear they cost about $10,000 and I don’t have that, and I haven’t stopped to ask, because I don’t have a place to put one, yet.

My family thinks I’m crazy, and I guess they’re right...but I wanna boose!

It would make a great addition to the back yard--I could make it a sort of study, or den, a boar’s den of a sort, and a partial storage building.

You’d have to wire it and plumb it of course, but that wouldn’t be too hard. I’d like to set it up as a place to write and read and to escape the present. 

I’d have a wood-burning stove in it and kerosene lanterns. I’d want a cot with a warm olive drab army blanket on it, and a cat. I’d put shelves in there for books and a music system--which would have to include The Wabash Cannon Ball and The Rock Island Line. 

Mainly though there would be quiet. The computer and notepads  would be up in the cupola. I’d  climb up the ladder to the seat, listen to the sleet tap on the window, and then I could really write, looking out the window into the past.

“I wanna ‘boose.”

Where's the 'boose?

I've been captivated, as long as I can remember,with Cabooses.

They no long follow long freight trains, but every time I see one sitting on a siding, I want one. I've written about them many times, and will do so more, I expect. I'll share those ideas and yearning s later. So today, I tried  painting one sitting on a siding at the Heber Railroad in Utah, taken years ago.

First time was  a failure...too much detail and not enough emotion.
so today's painting is smaller--5 by 7 at the most, but the kind I've given to friends and fellow railroad enthusiasts Jill and Roy Kelsey in Christmas cards...

But at least , on second try, I've managed a painting a day since Saturday--there's another story.

I wanta boose!