Nostalgia. Up through the third grade I walked back to and rode my bike back to a
Southern station, a short distance from our house on Depot Lane. I hung out in and
around that station, which disappeared after I moved away. My father and grandfather worked for railroads, and my grandfather, retired, got in the company
newletter. Now, I stand in an abandoned grain elevator or beside a closed station,
with tracks there or there no longer, listen to the wind rattle the elevator's loose corrugated sheeting and hoisting cables, and think about times past. I then come home and try to capture those times past in a model.
