It’s still dark when he wakes me. Early dark as opposed to late dark. My grand father says little but the cold dry toast that he was introduced to in the military is sitting on the table and I know we’re going somewhere. Another trip into the New Brunswick woods perhaps. I ask but I get no answer. I wash down the toast with the orange juice in the little glass.
He likes it this way, me wondering, him aware of a trip he’s planned and mapped out over the last week. Betsy starts up as soon as he turns the ignition. The old jeep still has pep after too many miles but the love and care that would make grandpas offspring a little jealous has kept her running smooth all these years.
I wake up a few hours later. We’ve driven to who knows where, but by the look on his face it’s where we’re supposed to be. A little grin as I ask where we are. Nothing more. I know enough about him to know that I’m not gonna know whats going on till he’s good and ready. We’re on the side of the road.. a road lined with forest. Thick forest. 10 feet in all you can see is black, even with the sun rising. About thirty yards ahead I can see train tracks. Grandpa looks at his watch, opens the door and tells me to follow him.
We walk at a good pace to the tracks. He takes a good look eastward. A ways away, we can see the tracks bend to left and disappear into the forest. There’s no sign of anything here. We’re alone in a forest, somewhere deep in New Brunswick. I have no idea what’s going on. Again, he looks at his watch and then grins and points. We can see it coming long before we hear it. Well the smoke anyways. It comes into view soon after and it’s sound washes over us, ground shaking... I’m a little sacred to be honest. A locomotive is an impressive site. A steam engine barreling down the tracks that you’re standing on is a different kettle of, well, coal.
We move to the side but I can see the train is slowing down now. It comes to a stop directly in front of us. The whistle blows and the engineer steps out unto the edge of his massive piece of machinery and sticks his hand out and invites me up and in.
I shoveled coal that day. I sat up front with the engineer and we looped through the maritime forest, wind blowing coal ash falling on the tracks behind us. It was a good day.
My grandfather was often cold and bitter and hard. But he was also loving and caring and giving and a lover of trains and old jeeps and.. That’s really the way I choose to remember him.