The Train's Weather Report

I've been doing my part to be self sufficient when it comes to getting the weather. Like the pioneers. They didn't get weather from TV or the internet. They did it themselves. Anyway, with the internet, everyone's always wanting to "save bandwidth," so I hate to waste it; why not look outside occasionally and see what it's doing for myself?

The obvious problem is that you can only see the weather happening right around you. If I had a big tower or something to climb on, then you could see it across town, but, still, that's not very far. So I started checking around, talking to some people, and they told me something they were already doing that I hadn't thought of. Keep an eye on trains coming through town!

So instead of looking on the internet everyday, like I used to, and wasting bandwidth, I've been going to the train station, along with a bunch of other people, and we're getting the weather report firsthand! And it's a lot of fun. The trains come through, we're looking at them, and it tells us just about everything we want to know!

"Just about" everything we want to know is the key phrase. Because the tracks only go east and west. If something's going on north or south of here, we don't know about it. The workaround we've got for that is to just make an average of east and west and give half of it to the north and half to the south. And anyway, my memory of the weather from TV is that it tends to go west to east, so it's no big deal.

So here's some of the stuff we've learned in the last few days: (And if you're out west, maybe you can tell me if we've got it right.) Two days ago a train came through from the west with snow on it. There was snow on every car, indicating to me that the snow out west was pretty severe. And you know how they have a reverse engine on the back of a train? There was even snow on the snowplow, which is really weird for an engine going backward! That had to be some deep snow!

Now, that was just one train. Then there were other trains coming through that didn't have snow on them. Our conclusion was that either the non-snowy trains hadn't come from as far away, or that they'd been on a sidetrack long enough for it to melt.

In addition to snow, we've seen all the other weather come through, including rain, hail, and fog. If you see a bunch of wet cars, that means rain. If there's denting, that's hail. And if you can barely see the train at all, that's fog. A train being a heavy and fast thing, if fog's just sitting out there, it's going to get run over. If boxcars are open, they fill up, and next thing you know, there's fog everywhere. For a few minutes, even after the train gets out of town, we have fog. Then it all evaporates, or catches a train going the other direction.

Talking to some of the old-timers, it's a lot of fun to hear what all they've seen in the past. One guy said he's been coming down here since he was a little kid, like 60 years ago. In fact, he's missing a leg from the time he tried to scoop up a handful of hail back then. I had to tell him how inspiring that was for me, that someone would be so dedicated to getting the weather and saving bandwidth, even all those years ago.

Comfort To The Stranger

Here I go, across the great lawn, with a tray of sweetmeats for the stranger.

"How are you?" I say, tempering my smile while keeping it genuine. "How about a cinnamon roll?" It's important to keep body and soul together, it's good for the marrow.

He looks at my arm for the Red Cross emblem, but seeing none, realizes I'm just a kind person given to instant solidarity, at least admiration from afar.

The leaders are gathered like Civil War generals around their battle plans, a couple scratching their chest-length beards pensively. One uses the nasty phrase "goddammit" a lot. I'm thinking, "Cinnamon rolls for the leaders," but I hate to interrupt their plans -- and the goddammit guy might have other plans for my head, involving a pike!

An underling sees me -- possibly I'm a spy, or an autograph hound, but my confidence says otherwise. He sees the cinnamon rolls and realizes I'm an angel of mercy, while perhaps also being an attention-seeker. He moves closer to prevent any disturbance of the generals at their work. "Goddammit!" I hear the one bluster, so I leave the rolls in the hands of the lieutenant.

I cut across the concourse. A few bandaged hands are raised. So many worthy brothers and sisters, but I'm just a man, with only two hands and no super powers. I cast down a look of mercy, seeing dry, hungry mouths everywhere. The poor souls. They have but moments to live, in some cases, and a morsel of a warm cinnamon roll would do them such good.

Must hurry on...

Partial dream interlude: At the periphery, I come across an old friend, a former classmate. She's virtually naked, maybe entirely -- I don't look -- except at the six-inch scar she's showing me on the right side of her abdomen. She's been through a lot. I must not stay. I'm out of cinnamon rolls.

I look down and I'm barely dressed either. I need to cross a gravel alley to make a call back to the kitchen van. Even in my near nudity (waist down), I'm thinking I need to go for it; these people are hungry.

Off to the left a building gives way, imploding but more or less silently, leaving an open space in which I see the family owners of the place discussing how their place will be remembered. (There's no talk of cinnamon rolls.)

In here somewhere, there's a railroad station. The track seems to narrow and is blocked. I'm with the stationmaster. He's waiting for a train that might take some time arriving. I'm asking his business. Then the train shows up from the east. It brings the generals, the very ones, to their duties.

A stern "Goddammit" pierces the air and brings me to my senses. I run for more cinnamon rolls. I think, this is a small job -- but to give comfort to those at the front lines is very much a big deal.