Riding the Rails

After Dad’s passing in August, I received a small portion of his ashes in a beautiful little urn made of deep blue marble with gray flecks. Heavy and smooth in the hand, it’s a pleasure to hold. The small silver bands wrapped around it are reminiscent of railroad tracks.

Spreading Dad’s ashes along the railroad has been clear to me for quite a while as what I needed to do with my portion. The joy he got from trains was deep. He had record albums of train whistles that I remember him listening to on our family record player when I was a child. He loved the rhythmic  sound of the wheels on the tracks. When a train blew its whistle in the distance, he would stop and listen; you could see the stress melt from his face as the long low sound echoed through the air. Whenever we got stuck at a train crossing while driving somewhere he would encourage us to count the cars and wait to see what color the caboose was. Blue? Red? Yellow?  It was so fun to wait for the surprise. I always hoped for a blue one.

So, I started putting together some ideas. The original plan was to get a ticket for the “Steam in the Valley” season with the Cuyahoga Valley Scenic Railroad, then sprinkle his ashes out the back car of the train.  But life happened, September disappeared, and “Steam in the Valley” ended. Then October started flying by and I realized that the fall colors would soon be waning; I should get going if I was to honor him this year!  Now Dad didn’t care much for nature – his allergies kept him out of most of it – so the season wouldn’t have mattered much to him. But autumn just felt so right. So Peaceful. Like when we would go on our apple buying excursions. The crisp fall air blowing all around us, whipping up the leaves. And since he had a significant hand in making me, I figured my birthday would be the perfect day.

So off I went to the Valley with Dad’s little urn in my pocket.  I’ve driven past that park a hundred times at least, whizzing along I-71, traveling from central to northeast Ohio and back again. Always with plans to get somewhere as fast as I could – people were waiting!  I can’t believe I’ve never spent any significant time in that beautiful patch of nature.

After 54 years, it was high time.

Did I say Dad’s favorite color was blue? The deep blues of indigo and ultramarine, he once told me, drew him so hard that he almost couldn’t look away – they gave his eyes a  deeper rest than one could imagine. Wow, that made sense! I get that same feeling with every shade of blue imaginable.  The colors of the ocean and sky attract me like nothing else. My kids wonder if I’ll ever get sick of blue. I can’t imagine how I ever could.

The leaves were a bit beyond peak down in the cooler valley, but there was still some beautiful color to be found. Indigo Lake has a depot where the CV Scenic Railroad train will stop if signaled. I wouldn’t be signaling for them to stop for me. Dad and I had better plans. The train was coming from the North. The sun was glorious, shining bright in the southern sky, illuminating the trees, tracks and oncoming locomotive  perfectly from behind me.

That beautiful day, Indigo Lake reflected the sky and trees like a mirror. As a bonus for me, the park was deserted except for a few hikers and bikers who were quickly on their way,  granting me the privacy I desired to be able to accomplish my goal. Sometimes God orchestrates things so perfectly.  A movie director couldn’t have done a better job with a hundred takes.

Here we go, Dad!

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