Sunday afternoon we went to the Molalla Train Park for a birthday party. Thatcher’s cousin Alex turned three and it was a lot of fun. Small children were sobbing and screaming as their mothers attempted to take them home - always a sign of a child’s party is going really well.
You might be wondering what the hell the Molalla Train Park is..... No? Too bad I’m going to tell you anyway. (you knew that)
I first heard about the Molalla Train Park on Oregon Field Guide. (why yes I do watch public television thank you for noticing that about me) The folks at Oregon Field Guide have this super dry documentary style that manages to capture oddities all across the state of Oregon without ever offending the oddities.You get the childlike fascination and wonder feeling instead of the knee-jerk run from the freaks scary belly roll. (might just be me - I’m sort of a documentary junkie. What? How else can I know an insignificant bit of nothing about everything there is to know?)
First of all you should know something about Molalla…… whoooo doggy! What a town. Sweet Jesus. I was getting the heebies just driving through. It has this small town vibe where you can tell the residents are goddamn proud of their small town and like it just the way it is, thank you very much. Not like touristy small towns that make it all pretty either. It's not a city persons small town replica… I’m talking about fierce redneck pride here. I’m talking about my wife rides our tractor mower in her bikini with a beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and a toddler on the steering wheel people. I swear to you the entire town is in some kind of yard sale/junk yard/tacky yard ornament competition. I love it. And hate it. Like most everything. But my point is; you can see why the crazy train people found a home here.
You know about crazy train people, right? I know they don’t get the publicity the Furries get but give them a chance!! You can spot them… they’re usually large fifty plus men with lots of facial hair going on. They wear overalls with an oil rag hanging out of their back pockets and often as not a train conductor shaped cap. They have large round bellies. They’re gruff and if they’re not cajoling you they want you to cajole them. I have the idea that they wouldn't have any use for a woman unless she was wrapped in rope attached to the track with a big silent movie H E L P hovering over her head. But listen… it’s not all “look at the big hairy men play pretend with their tiny trains” … they mean business. Like any freaks they are EXTREMELY passionate (prickly) about their craft.
Now grown men obsessed with steam engines and tiny toy replicas of a dying mode of transportation are a delightful rare find. And that’s part of the joy. Their love of the trains. Building the tiny pretend towns. The cult of it . …the old timer coal burning steam making whistle blowing THRILL of it all……All that fun stuff… rare, delightful. The Molalla Train People… took it up a notch. Excuse me… the Pacific Northwest Live Steamers. (*ahem* serious business, folks.) They built … “A seven and a half inch gauge railroad nestled on four acres” and it’s open to the public. For Free. (donations gladly accepted) Pretty awesome. (freaky)
SO. Here’s the deal. The crazy train people pay for their own trains (built especially to fit this track which is (as far as I know) the only track they can go on.) They pay for the tracks, everything to do with the actual trains and they‘re all members of the club. They volunteer their time to drive the trains with people on them. The donations from visitors and the gift shop and the snack bar pay for upkeep on the park.
Look closer……. You have cranky old men with intricate delicate hand made toys inviting the public to come ride their trains for free. Keep in mind the part of the public interested in riding the trains is the cranky toddler set. Ummmm problems maybe? Ya think?
Well. Mostly no. Most of the guys we met and interacted with were Grandpa types. They were patient. They were conductor like. They were great. And if you think I don’t know how insane a proposition it is to drive a tiny train around in circles all day while parents attempt to keep their kicking screaming whiny annoying unappreciative brat children from ruining your slaved over work of art train toy…..you’re wrong. I get it. It probably sucks ass. But ummm HELLO0O0O you invited them!!!
Well. Clearly I’m beating around a big bush… so let’s razor that puppy and get to the dick I want to tell you about. (ahahahah gawds that is filthy dirty terrible writing! I’m leaving it; the filth humors me)
Allow me to paint the picture… it’s a beautiful fall day in Molalla, Oregon. Somehow through the magic of the pink plus sign on a pee stick I find myself straddling a piece of wood the width of a bleacher bench on a tiny train track with two three year olds, an eight year old and Tim. The piece of wood is one of the “cars” connected to a miniature train engine and the conductor of said tiny train is walking the length of the train to board and guide the locomotive around a track for our pleasure. Tim is behind me, Then there is Thatcher in front of me, Birthday Boy in front of him and amazingly tolerant eight year old Isabelle ahead of him.
I say tolerant because she is at the mercy of the three year olds sitting behind her. The thing about three year olds is they wriggle. They poke. They shuffle their feet around. They head butt. They tickle. They rock. They roll. They scream and squeal about what an incredibly good time they’re having on the tiny train. And we haven’t even left the station yet. But, I know that once the train gets going I will have a significantly easier time keeping them at task.
So my beautiful, tolerant, bright eight year old daughter has twisted her body in a half turn to look back at the boys and she’s smiling and laughing at their antics as I get them settled down before the conductor “all aboards” and we can be on our merry way.
“You need to turn around and quit messing around so I don’t have to evict you from the train park. You want to play, you go home to play. You want to ride this train you will turn around and face forward and behave.” ………says the asshole conductor to my kid.
I shit you not. So this bizarre shocked “Hey…” comes out of my mouth and I try to reach over the boys to put my hand on her shoulder but she’s already turned around and her shoulder blades tell me she’s doing everything she can not to cry and if I touch her she will sob and then she will hate me.
“I’m going to have a problem” Tim growls in my ear. That’s code for I’m about to kick that old man’s ass if you don’t do something to stop me.
But before anyone can do anything the guy starts the train and like it or not we’re stuck for ten minutes on the train. Midway through the ride Tim actually had to lift Thatch out of my lap and over the back of my head to separate the three year olds (I mentioned the poking, right?) and other than the fierce desire to KILL THAT FUCKING BASTARD it was a lovely train ride.
After we got off the train I had to pull my daughter aside and explain to her that she hadn’t done anything wrong, that he was just a cranky old man and that she shouldn’t take it personally.
But I do. And I say How dare you, sir. HOW DARE YOU!! Clearly you’ve been around that track a few too many times. Take a train vacation for god’s sake. You have no right to belittle my child.
*patient smile*
In short… (and for those of you skimming)
If you ever get the chance; I highly recommend visiting the Molalla Train Park. Good Times.
If you run into the Molalla Train Park Nazi kick him in his train whistle for me.
September 21, 2009
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