Trainspotting.

Definition:

the hobby of watching trains and noting their serial numbers, usu. for long periods of time; by extension, any hobby or obsession with a trivial pursuit; also written train-spotting

We don’t note their serial numbers. We just spot trains. And really just trains using a certain railway path.

We do this on Saturday mornings. I just started this with him. He loves trains. I even bought us two nice pairs of rain boots. To get to the tracks, we have to cross some thick weed and grass. Being in the north now, I figured we might encounter some strange creatures in the grass. So I bought us rain boots. His are light blue, with dogs on them carrying balls. Mine have yet to arive in the mail. I like to think that mine are tweed patterned, but really I think it’s called “guncheck”.

So, Saturday mornings. We leave our house and walk towards the woods. There is a fence that separates our land from the railway tracks. But if you follow the path you’ll notice that there is a gap in the fence. A small gap. So we cross. This is where the grass gets tall, it gets weedy and there are a few bare bushes to be crossed. So I pick him up and cross these 10 feet with him in my arms. Yesterday when I did this his boot fell off. I didn’t realize till I had reached the clearing after the 10 feet. He kept saying “shoe”. And turning around, there was his lone boot sitting in the grass posing as though ready for a photograph. It would have made a great shot. But I didn’t have my camera.

So, once you cross the grass, weeds and bush you reach another path. This path rungs alongside the tracks. I like to think this path has been there for hundred of years. I like to imagine that we are walking along a very old Native American trail (this imaging is ruined when I look down and see what appears to be tire tracks belonging to some 14 yr old’s ATV). This path is separated from the actual two tracks by bush and a deep ditch dividing the two areas. Kind of like those in zoos that keep tigers at bay. Supposedly.

Yesterday we walked about a third of a mile before we turned back. We were following four ducks that made a turn into the wood ahead. He wanted to go on but then I started hearing what sounded like a dying cat from the trees and thought it better to go back. Next time I think it better that I carry a cane or something. For protection, of course. Or maybe be very 1920s and carry a rifle. That would match my as-yet-not-arrived “guncheck” rain boots.