- As the river of my mind meanders, it was just before
Christmas three years ago that I was traveling home from Perth - a nondescript
hamlet in Ontario, Canada - with Bedford Fire Chief, Jim Madden, after
picking up parts for one of his perpetually paralyzed vehicles. Our route
home found us traveling a highway which paralleled a set of railway tracks
while Jimmy affably chatted about nothing and everything.
-
- A conversation with Jimmy is free-wheeling, so to speak.
They can bob and weave from family anecdotes - mom and dad on the farm
and the way things used to be - to his tree-cutting business, "I was
up this tree the other day...'bout a 60-footer!...and fell, but caught
myself halfway down." Many of his exploits could be submitted to
Ripley's, Believe It Or Not.
-
- "Luckily, I'm not accident-prone," added Jimmy
(who has expended more lives than 90 cats).
-
- After three or four minutes of hard acceleration, my
tired Ford Explorer crawled and groaned its way up to 55 miles an hour
and we then settled back to enjoy our just-purchased coffees, listen to
some seasonal music, and continue our chat. Steven Spielberg could not
have scripted what was about to transpire nor could I have guessed my extroverted
passenger would be the catalyst for what we witnessed that enchanted evening.
-
- As we talked, a small freight train had lumbered up beside
us, rumbling its way toward the gathering darkness of the western sundown.
The light dusting of snow earlier in the day made the thunderous giant
look as though it was traveling along on a cloud.
-
- Jimmy began giggling like a schoolboy and then rolled
down his window and started wildly pumping his closed fist up and down
above the roof of our vehicle trying to get the engineer's attention.
-
- "Turn on your light for a second!" he said
as he pointed to my green light. I plugged it in letting it rotate several
times, unplugged it, and waited. Apparently, that did the trick.
-
- Jimmy got his wish and the dusk was pierced by deafening
blasts of the locomotive's basso profundo horn. Jimmy was grinning like
a kid. And then, a moment later, the *entire* train erupted in an explosion
of colored light. What we saw seemed impossible...but we saw it.
-
- Countless pin-lights blinked and danced, stars spun,
whirled and glittered over the complete length of the train...which had
transformed, instantly, into a hurtling, cloud-borne rainbow kaleidoscope
of colors. Red lights, blue lights, green and white lights reflected and
glittered off the wind-whipped tinsel up and down the sides of our traveling
companion. The ten or so cars the engine was pulling were all for freight
except for the unusual final two...handsome coaches that were burgundy
in color, and trimmed with beautiful gold.
-
- Had I not known the rails were there, it looked, for
all the world, as though this roaring colossus of Christmas colors blinked,
and sparkled and danced atop an ethereal, ghostly white mist. And then,
off it went, reverberating in our eyes...and minds...into the darkening
evening. The entire show had lasted less than a minute.
-
- Breaking our stunned silence, Jimmy erupted, "Holy
Mackinaw!...did you see THAT?! Look at 'im go!"
-
- Only a snowman facing the opposite direction could have
missed it. I drove on transfixed by the surreal magic show now pulling
away from us and fading away into the night.
-
- "I sure did! What the heck kind of train was that?!?"
-
- "Danged if I know," said Jimmy, chuckling,
"Oh...we have to turn up here at the crossing."
-
- I started to slow the truck, made a left turn and stopped
before the down, blinking railway crossing arms, a faint imitation of the
roaring Christmas comet of light we'd just seen. In a moment, the arms
swung upward, opening the way for us. There was still a flurry of snow
dust from the magic train in the air and it settled on us as we drove up
and over the crossing.
-
- I suspect there is a plausible explanation for that train
and why it had been decorated so. But I'd rather not know. I choose to
think it was bringing Christmas to town after town on that Canadian night...
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