The Train to Somewhere

Returned to White River Junction for a quick revisit. Stopped by Windsor to cross the famous covered bridge into New Hampshire, and then right back through it again to get back to Vermont, and on the highway to the next town. There's not much to do but get take out food. So we found a BBQ place, loaded up on some pulled pork, and pulled into the Amtrak Station Parking lot to consume our bounty. Trains are running (only 2 Amtraks a day) although freights often run at various hours. 

In the Township of Hartford, VT: White River Junction is what Willimantic, CT is to Wyndham.

   

So here's this 150+ year old train sitting here. I go check it out.

There's barely a soul in this town as far as traffic (there never was) and the Amtrak Station is closed for the day. But the Restaurants are still working hard to deliver. I knew of a BBQ place just down the street from the Hotel Coolidge, and called them from the parking lot to order. I had a nice view of the hotel I stayed at nearly 4 years ago.

When I was trying to figure out where my life was going.

This thing was just sitting for the public to look at, stairs and no signs saying do not enter, so I took a quick look and some pictures. We finished our BBQ and drove back home.

Beginning to See The Light

Many things have changed.

Many things remain unchanged.

Now entering our 12th week of stay at home orders.

Where is home?

What is home?

I live between two worlds, but I know the road is always going forward.

In this case, Northward.

At the end of the day, I always travel this beautiful back road that takes me away from the past and into the present. I'm always so struck by the aging rural landscape, and it coexists with the residential plots that slowly take over farmland. I can't blame people for liking the view, and for the sellers knowing the value of this region. At least a few farms on this stretch still exist. Some larger than others, but nice to see on the drive that takes me to the present.

I often stop at this point at stare at the sign, and ponder the crossing that exists.

I never drove these backroads before, and so they mean something different.

Discovery.