Category: Riding the Rails

Rolling on the Rails, Philadelphia-Bound

Crossing the Susquehanna River

Anyone who knows me, knows I love trains. This week I’m working on an essay that is about this particular train trip, but has nothing to do with the reason I headed to Philadelphia in late January — on the heels of a snow and ice storm, in intensely dense fog mixed with dripping drizzle. For part of this particular journey I felt like I was back in Seattle, so enveloped in grayness, that it’s tough to find landmarks outside the grit covered windows of my business class seat.

On to the purpose of my trip. I wanted to meet with my internship organization in-person (hq’d in Philadelphia) for a few reasons, most importantly because over the course of my working life, this organization has been part of it in some fashion since late 1998 — and 25 years means something in the broader scope of how we change and morph our careers over time, but can still find ways to work with organizations and people with whom we’ve connected over vast swaths of time and geography.

For this week’s MFA work, I am tasked with writing about my favorite thing with my internship placement — and hands-down, it is the opportunity to work with people and an organization that I admire, and to foster and continue to build relationships. This reflects also what this organization works on each and every day, as well as these over-time relationships: how do we take what we know, consider new ways to use that knowledge (and in this case historic spaces) and imagine what the future may look like where communities are embraced and welcomed. To me, this speaks to a much larger need across the realm of publishing, as well as writing; it feels that too often, closed doors are more often the case and gatekeepers abound while “new” is set aside, because, “that’s just now how it’s done.” I’m not a particular fan of disruption for disruption’s sake, but it does have its place. As an older, professional woman, these issues are of great concern to me as I continue in the workforce and examine new potential roles inside and outside of publishing, writing and education.

In addition to relationships, the nature of how my internship is evolving is also a favorite aspect — as it not only goes to my skills and interests — but also leads me to my roots of professional life as well, where I can (in those rare moments of quiet) envision roles for myself that combine the best of the old life with the best of a new life. Crossroads would be an apt comparison. So far, I’ve been tasked with writing a 1,500 word profile of a dynamic arts organization and next I’ll be working on case studies; both of these involve interviewing a number of people, figuring out a narrative approach, and weaving the story together. For the profile, it will appear in the spring issue of the organization’s magazine; the case studies will appear on the organization’s blog. Next, I’ll be working on interviewing conference attendees that will lead to a published report/proceedings. I’ll only be tangentially involved in production, but I’ve held that role before, so when we recently went over the production schedule for the spring magazine issue — all kinds of details I hadn’t thought about in a long time came back pretty quickly. All of these actions and activities are in-line with the world of organizational, and scholarly/educational publishing which is a lane in which I feel comfortable and one in which I know I can and will explore more possibilities.

January: The Month of Beginnings #baypathmfa #morningview

The sun rose this morning over the top of my chosen treadmill at the gym — shining its winter light and miniscule heat over the frozenness of nearly week old snow and ice that may not melt by spring. In between my view over the treadmill’s control panel, planes landed from the north — following the path of the Potomac River en route to nearby National Airport (as a long timer here, I have never brought myself to call the airport by its new-ish name). The morning begins, the treadmill begins, the planes begin their rapid descent — beginnings are abundant in January. My birthday falls on the first day of January: ground zero for a new year’s beginning throes…there is no escaping the idea that change is upon me each and every year as the ball drops in Times Square — I begin each year with a new number to celebrate, revile or make peace with — there is no predicting how each number will strike me until it us upon me. This year, January is off to a fiery start – new roles and responsibilities, a pending graduation, most likely relocation; the level of planning required to surf through the next five months is filled with if-then statements.

As this month roars along, I find myself in the position of intern as part of my MFA program — a totally new role for me as I’ve never been an intern at any point in my career. And admittedly, it’s not a title I’m completely comfortable with at this point in my life, perhaps I’ll become more accustomed to it as the current semester proceeds. I am incredibly fortunate to be spending my intern time with an organization, and people, that I have great respect for — and I’m thankful for the long-term relationships that I’ve carried forward to be in this position from my previous professional life. So for this beginning, I think of it more in terms of homecoming with new eyes and practical mission: my work will be in a field that I have a keen interest in with people that are dedicated to preservation of sacred spaces and places, community building, the arts and knowledge sharing. My realm will focus on the publishing aspect of the organization from writing profiles of funding recipients, to interviewing community leaders and religious leaders that will lead to published convening reports and learning the ins and outs of organizational publishing — with which I have previous experience, but new trends and means will provide new insight and ideas. I had been wondering for awhile how to find my way back to this organization — so the intern experience is a beginning in that way, as it’s opened that door to new conversations and opportunities.

For this past week, my focus has been on reading past issues of the three-times yearly magazine the organization publishes to understand the level of depth that profiles entail as preparation for the profile piece that I’ll be preparing for the next issue. I’ve spent time researching my profile subject as well, and interviewing the founder – next I’ll be interviewing several more (anticipating two) for this piece as I consider how the profile subject (an arts organization) impacts the communities it serves. And tomorrow, bright and early I’ll jump onto Amtrak and head north to Philadelphia to meet with my organization to discuss further details of how my intern semester will proceed: projects, deadlines, brainstorming and ideas. The train is just under two hours each way and a trip I’ve taken more times than I can count — so when I deboard, I’ll be looking for both the familiar and the new as I wind my way toward Rittenhouse Square and up to the 10th floor to meet colleagues from the past and new.

Train in the Window #morningview

My view from the treadmill today — a Virginia Railway Express train headed rapidly toward downtown. The heat is excruciating today, at 85 degrees at 7:30 am. This heat often leads to train slowdowns as the rails buckle from the hothouse humidity of the air coupled with the intense friction from train speed — but this driver seems determined to make the schedule, which I admire from a punctuality standpoint (and former train commuter) but from my perch inside this wonderfully chilled community center gym, I silently wish for safe delivery of all passengers.

Just before this commuter train whizzed into view, the longest freight train I’ve ever seen in the city ambled by at a speed of no more than 20 mph — each car swaying in waltzing fashion slightly to and fro, frame in-tact, but timid in approach. As my footfalls caused me to start feeling the sweat and I turned on the extra fan on the treadmill’s dashboard, I wondered how it comes to be that toxic chemical containers on freight trains are situated right next to newer cars with eco-friendly bamboo floors. How do all of these co-mingled things live side-by-side for endless miles, couple and uncouple, to land products on the shelves of Target stores near and far?

Trains: transportation of people and goods, and the truest view of the world.

#traintravel: the unexpected

IMG_20190311_083126I often take photos as I ride the train — I firmly believe it is the only way to see America. Road travel, unless using secondary roads, does not provide a real glimpse into America’s cities and rural areas — but even that view is limited. To get into the real America, it is essential to get into alleyways; I use this same methodology when looking for a new place to live as well — you can tell a lot about a neighborhood or town by what you can find in any given alleyway, be it trash or gardens.

While heading north yesterday, I had just snapped this photo in West Baltimore as our train came to a stop — not a jarring stop, but an unexpected one as I gazed down from the overpass where my car #3 was perched. I felt victorious when I boarded the train yesterday — with the help of the wonderful Amtrak Red Cap, I was the first one to board the quiet car. Frequent Amtrak riders know that the quiet car is the best — no cell phone calls, usually more room and people are just busy working or reading. The quiet car also doesn’t carry the extra cost of business class; as a plus the WiFi is generally more stable in the quiet car for its proximity to the business car, unlike the complete unreliability of connectivity in the general cars.

As we came to our stop, I was just finishing the last of my weekly prep for classes when one of the conductors announced, “We have a train emergency. We need everyone to stay calm. We have a tresspasser on the tracks, and we’ve had an incident.” Now, because lots of my fellow passengers had headphones on, not many heard this announcement. It’s not unusual for a train to stop to let other, faster train traffic through at odd spots along our northward route so at this point, no one is even thinking it’s a disaster to be sitting on an overpass. By the second announcement, people are starting to peek up over chair backs to ask neighbors what is going on. By the conductor’s second announcement, we know the truth – our train has struck someone. By the third announcement, we know the victim is female. By the fourth announcement, we now know that EMS is on the way — and from my vantage point on the overpass, I can see the ambulance pass underneath our perch. I start sending notes to my family to let them know where I am; and a forward note to my meeting still several cities away that I may be late. Then I google the accident.

Train accidents are more common that we all may think. The big ones, cars or trucks stuck on the tracks or cars racing trains make the televised news. People on the tracks rarely make headlines, and in 2017 over 2,100 people were struck by moving trains. This is no small number, and in fact is a crisis. Train tracks are usually fenced off, hence the conductor’s announcement of a trespasser on the tracks; but this hardly means tracks are inaccessible to humans. The report of our accident described the female victim as, “attempting to cross the tracks” — yet, there is no reason to cross the tracks at this urban, overpass setting. No reason.

We were allowed to move slowly into Baltimore after EMS departed and an inspection of the tracks by law enforcement; and allowed to leave our train to quickly transfer to another headed north to reach our destinations as our train’s crew was pulled out of service and the train put to rest until a full investigation took place. I learned from a fellow passenger, who had been on another train that struck someone that we were lucky — based on the shortness of our delay, the victim was alive. Had the victim been a fatality, our delay suspended above West Baltimore, would’ve been several hours of shelter-in-place. Lucky is not a word I’d use; fortunate maybe, that we only lost an hour of our morning and that we have our health to race to another train, up a flight of stairs and down another. Fortunate that we ourselves did not attempt to cross the tracks in front of a train going upwards of 50 mph as it rounds a bend into downtown Baltimore. Fortunate that we did not suffer from whatever reason the victim chose to cross the tracks, and fortunate that we do not bear the injuries that must’ve resulted from such an impact. The victim was reported by local news to not only be alive, but alert. Alert most certainly is not fortunate.

Meetings aside, I spent most of the day searching for news…any update on the victim. Does she have a family? Does she have friends to rush to her side? Her life is most certainly going to be difficult going forward. And what of our train driver? Does Amtrak offer the needed support for what he and the rest of the staff may’ve observed? Too many questions that deserve answers — and further investigation. I still believe that train travel is the only way to really see into America’s collective soul — and today, with so many world events shaking, it is worth a few moments of respite and introspective concentration to really understand how one victim, on one rail line, is so representative of all that ails America.

 

Headed North

 

Blurry yellow buttercups, blue-green grass of early fall against white painted fence rails — all a blur as #96 picks up speed on its path north. Out of the South. A short pit-stop in Ashland, Hanover County, then our screech metal hubs begin their halting glide again. Antebellum white columns dot the county landscape; grand porches, slightly lowing swings, the occasional mare and rusty oil tanks. I know the stops by-heart on this run: Ashland, Fredericksburg, Quantico, Alexandria, DC for an engine change, New Carollton, BWI, Baltimore, Wilmington, Philadelphia — and then the City. The rail line out of the South is where past meets present — this week, no exception — the rumble of the diesel engine sways this line; the change-over to an electric engine in DC, symbolic. Sculptured lawns of Richmond give-way as a train saunters north through the Kudzu versus Virginia Creeper vine battles — a vain attempt on both parts to overtake or stake claim — which will win? Rail unites while it divides, bringing life and death together — human, nature, community, beauty. Our hopes rest on the rails — and maybe it delivers what we yearn for it to do — connect the disparity that is everyday life. Today #96 is ahead of schedule — but we must wait for our spot on the DC dock; what we gained on our trek thus far, we now lose to other forces. Tomorrow, without doubt, #85 headed south will surely be an hour late. For now, dirty windows offer a blurred moment — to study, to gaze, to float.