THE LUMBER CAMPS – part 1
One story my grandfather told me many times was about the night he was walking the rails between camps. Walking was his only mode of transportation for short distances and, apparently, served him well. That is, until the night a train approached just as he was crossing a trestle bridge. He knew that he couldn’t make it to either side faster than the train so he slipped over the side and wrapped his arms around one of the railroad ties. After the train passed he tried to scramble back up to the tracks, but couldn’t lift himself up. As it was pitch black, he didn’t have any idea what was underneath him, nor how far down it was. It could have been a long fall to solid ground which would have injured or killed him. It could have been to deep water which posed another problem for him since he couldn’t swim. Concern turned to fatigue and he decided this was the end. He could hang on no longer. He could never recollect just how long he hung there but it was long enough for him to decide that this might just be the end. I could only imagine the thoughts going through my grandfather’s mind at this time. The desperation and sense of life’s final moments must have been terrifying. So, finally, he let go and dropped six inches to solid ground. He was always amused to tell that story on himself, knowing that whoever heard it would like it.
(This is part 3 of my grandfather’s life – part 4 next week)
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