For hours there was nothing but darkness. As the train crossed Arkansas and Missouri in the night, glimpses of faraway streetlights flickering as we sped by, were the only discerning forms of life one could see from this part of the country. Waking up as the train was departing St. Louis station, I kept my eyes fixed on the horizon. Soon we’re crossing into Illinois which was covered with a thick rolling fog. It was daybreak on the plains but it all seemed to be asleep still on that Sunday morning. The train kept pushing on, the conductor honking its horn at every railroad crossing. It didn’t seem to bother any soul except for a sudden soaring Red-tailed hawk taking flight from the top of an elm tree or the occasional dog howling in protest for disturbing the peace.
As the fog began to slowly dissipate as if making way for the passing train, the sun was still hiding and hanging low on the horizon. A few sleepy small towns began to appear, one after another. The train passed so close to these single homes that one could almost peek inside their windows. A few houses with their porch lights on, others completely in the dark still, a few others with a kitchen light suddenly turned on, as if the passing train meant the start of day. A few cars up the road began to appear on the two-lane narrow country road, frost still on their windows. From inside the comfort of the train one could almost feel the balmy midwestern weather.
As if watching a movie from the window of a moving train, I began to bear witness on how the locals spend their time when work has been dealt with. From their driveways and backyards, rusty old pontoon boats, RV trailers sitting on cinder blocks, inflatable swimming pools of different shapes and sizes, barbeque grills and wooden tool sheds, swings hanging from oak trees, gardening tools scattered on lawns among mini-trampolines and mini-slides, mountain bikes and ATVs. It’s as if proof were needed to demonstrate that play is as important as work around these parts.
Plain fields began to take over the landscape after a while, the small towns more scattered and the houses farther away from the train tracks. The sun still struggling to rise up as the fog had completely rolled away. Outside Carlinville, a Walmart with a nearly empty parking lot, isolated shopping carts surpassing the cars in numbers. A billboard under two big lights advertising a big sale on Home, Furniture and Appliances. A garbage truck crossing the parking lot in the direction of the dumpsters. A John Deere dealership next to Walmart, with pristine farming equipment of all sorts, protected by electrified barbwire, all in their shinning Phthalo green. Leaving town, loads of semi-truck trailers resting on the loading docks of the big “Prairie Farms Milk Factory”. The train tracks expanded to lead to big silos that stood tall above everything else to the horizon.
We kept pushing north, following the trail of old Route 66, passing through picture-perfect small towns, with their water towers with the town’s namesake printed on them with big letters. Life seemed to be in full bloom in these one-light towns, where it doesn’t take much to be stuck in a traffic jam but where they are welcomed as an opportunity to catch up on each other’s week and local news and gossip. Signage from old Route 66 adorns the streets of these towns, nostalgia being a big reason for people and business in trying to return to the glory days of old.
As we left old Route 66 behind and towns began to get more scattered between them, we started following State Route 53. It didn’t take long for the corn fields to start appearing on either side of the train tracks. From time to time, a pickup could be seen only by the plum of dust that trailed behind it. Farms with small silos, red barns and rusty tractors barely seen at the end of another gravel road cutting through the fields. The sun had now risen in full, hanging high above all else. The train kept pushing on, blowing its horn at the approaching railroad crossings, only a few pickups waiting to cross. Church bells in the distance ringing their believers in, as the sun shined bright over the huge corn fields bathing them in gold colors. I was fixated by their transfigured power. It seemed they could go on forever.
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