by Furd

Created on: October 19, 2008

CHESTER, THE WHISTLING SQUIRREL

Chapter 1: The Thicket

The dawn is greeted by the lonesome sound of a train whistle slowly, methodically growing louder as it approaches the crossings on the out skirts of town. The earth would shake as the train rumbled along the western rail line that passed just yards from my boyhood home. Cars bulging with their loads of coal would stretch for miles along the line on their journey to feed the hungry steel mills just on the south end of town.

Just across the track, down a narrow path through a thicket was a train yard and round house. This is where engines and cars were hooked up and staged for their return trips to the mines back east. The yard was always busy with the sound of workers and machinists tending to the big diesel engines. There were many who lived nearby in the village and traveled the path through the thicket on their way to the yard. The thicket was a playground for my friends and I and we came to recognize many of the workers who passed through there. One such worker passed through everyday on his way to the yard who we called old Moses. Old Moses was a quiet man who kept to himself in a small house just down the road. He was very tall and had a long white beard. He wore an old faded pair of overalls and on his head sat the blue and white striped hat of an engineer. Each day he would leave his house carrying an empty burlap sack and a small tin pail covered with a pale yellow towel. On cold mornings, you could see steam rising from the pail. In the evening, he would return with the empty pail and the towel folded up neatly and tucked inside and the burlap bag which was filled with bits of coal slung over his shoulder. As he would pass, he would look at me, smile, but never say a word. Some of my friends who played in the thicket were afraid of Ole Moses and would run and hide when he came by. But I had never felt that way. He had never threatened me in any way and although we never really spoke, I just knew he was a friend and would never do me any harm.

Chapter 2: Bums and Gypsies

One summer afternoon my friends and I had spent the better part of the day collecting blackberries that grew wild along the tracks when we came upon a small line shack. The brakemen used the shack as a place to get out of the rain or cold while they waited to operate the switch track when the trains would come by. The shack had a small window through which we could see an old rickety table. Inside on a bench we noticed someone sleeping.

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