Freshmen Year: A Whole Lot of Training

As the small class comprised of Willamette freshmen from all over the west coast learning to study the intricacies of nature in our new environment of Salem, Oregon, I am sure we can agree that part of the nature of our existence now-a-days deals with the railroad and trains that come screaming by at ungodly hours. Some on Willamette’s campus may consider the train a continual nuisance, many just simply get used to it. I on the other hand am comforted by the train’s passing; it brings back warm feelings of nostalgia. Starting at a young age my mom would take me to the train station in San Juan Capistrano, California dressed in proper conductor attire. You all should see some of those pictures. One in particular is in a train shaped frame and when you crank one of the wheels it plays “I’ve been working on the railroad”. Along with other experiences, trains are a special little part of the nature of my world.

Now I know this is not the conventional nature observation, but as we have discussed as a class, natural observations such as those of Gilbert White provide a snapshot into times past. The train tracks provide a similar metaphor. They are the existence of a dead industrial era and a picture of an older America that was “in bloom”. (Get it, “in bloom” is both a nature reference and a Nirvana song. And Nirvana was from the Pacific Northwest!) I digress, but trains represent to me what I believe is a beautiful way of travel though it is becoming very outdated and replaced by cars, planes, and really fast Japanese trains.

The nature of the train weaves its way into the lives of many and trains offer some very good stories to tell, one of which is close to the heart. When I first moved into the Kaneko dorms thinking about trains and college reminded me about a series of priceless stories from my late father’s time at Whitworth University. In the late 70’s and early 80’s it was not uncommon for mostly drifters or bums to hop freight trains to get to new places that might offer a better life. Now my dad was just college student with a passion for adventure and the outdoors. He was able to convince a couple friends to pack up an overnight bag, some top ramen, and a sleeping bag. They headed to the train yard where my dad had the freight train schedules memorized and conveniently climbed onto an eastbound open air boxcar. Stretching out in their sleeping bags with the crisp early winter air rushing by, the band of scrappy travelers made it from Spokane, across the Idaho panhandle, and into a small town in Montana. They would hike, camp, sometimes only spend a night and head back. They made freight train hopping a legendary pastime at the Whitworth campus. That train and those eastbound tracks were part of their nature, while at the same time the nature of the great outdoors sped past and was trekked across. Those stories definitely make me wish for simpler times when I gaze off my dorm balcony and see open faced boxcars flying by, but I feel fortunate to have the pleasure of being so near this industrial creation that is now an almost ancient part of our nature here in the United States.