Just beyond the boundary of our front yard, a railroad track ran east toward Viola and west toward Aledo. We were in between the two, but closer to Aledo.
Dad and Monty always kept our yard neatly mowed. But the strip along the tracks — the part that belonged to the railroad — was left alone. There weren’t many weeds, just tall grass.
Monty and I liked to play in it. We would mash the grass down with our feet, and those flattened spots became forts or little houses.
We spent many summer afternoons there, in the sunshine and fresh air, pretending.
Sometimes a train would come by. They didn’t go very fast, and they weren’t very long. Most were only eight or ten cars — sometimes less, sometimes more — and always with a caboose.
We knew to stay back in the yard and away from the tracks when the trains passed.
Later, I learned that it was a spur line, and the trains were delivering freight to local businesses.
Sometimes the engineer had his window open, with his arm resting on the sill. We waved, and they often waved back.
Sometimes, a handcar would come along, with two men pumping the handles to make it go.
We always thought those were funny to watch.
Through My Eyes, Gently 