Although it was an oppressively hot day, Anne involuntarily shivered. Coming back to Saranac always had that effect on her. It was her hometown, a small town. So small that there was only a couple of four way stops. Not even a McDonalds. not that she would eat at one if it were there. Now that she was starting veterinary school at Michigan State University, she was one hundred percent vegetarian, not to mention all-organic.
The MacFarlane’s had lived in Saranac since the mid-1800’s, not too long after the first settlers came to this area of Michigan. Life was probably much the same now, new technology, but the same old families, ideas, and conversations. At least that’s how Anne saw it. Nothing new or exciting, just the same two blocks of downtown storefronts surrounded by neighborhoods of houses on three sides with the railroad tracks and The Grand River to the North. There was a post office, grocery store, a couple of gas stations and a bar. For the people who didn’t get their gossip and fill of drama at the bar, there were three churches to pick from.
Her family was more the church sort than the bar sort. Personally, Anne was a C. and E. Christian, Christmas and Easter were enough. Mostly this was to please her mom and an excuse to come home for family events. In a small town, family could be hard to define. When she was twelve, she had a crush on a boy in school that she later found out was a second cousin. That’s the way Saranac was, everyone was related to everyone else either by marriage or blood. God help the newcomer, because it was impossible to track how people were connected in this town, she thought as they walked along the tree lined street toward downtown. The shade felt good as the light breeze dried the sweat on her face and neck.
Anne had come back to town for an unusual event. The old deserted train depot was being moved about a half of a mile down the train tracks so it could be relocated near the center of town. The historical society (or hysterical society, as Anne liked to call them) had bought the old building and was planning on restoring it and opening it for tours. The society was made up of all the local red hatters and other old folks, looking for another excuse to organized themselves and preserve small town life for posterity. They were much like a church group, but without a central positive theme like religion or brotherly love, they often fell into bickering and disagreements. Apparently, they had pulled it together enough to get the community to rally behind this cause.
As they walked, they were joined by other crowds on the sidewalks. It seemed that the whole town was turning out, which would’ve been around two thousand people. Actually it was closer to two hundred. That was plenty enough, a pretty good showing in this heat.
Anne had a personal interest in architecture, and had always thought the depot was a beautiful example of an early 20th century train station. Besides, in high school she used to sneak into it with her friends and get drunk. They went in through loose boards covering the window. The depot was originally built on Depot Street, which was just a small one block loop off of Main Street, with only backyards facing it.
The current depot was built in 1907, after the old depot burned. In its prime, it was a social and economic hub, the crown jewel of this rural farming town. Over the decades, as auto travel became popular, attention was shifted away from the tracks and onto the roads. Since rail travel had declined, this had become an abandoned area, only occupied by dogs and bored teens. Since the last passenger train had stopped in the 1950’s, the depot was nearly forgotten. The grass grew long, and the depot was mostly hidden from view. Trains now pass by, headed for greater destinations.
Even as a teen, Anne had appreciated the woodwork and the style. The depot was painted a brick red, with white trim. It had a curved front to the building, which on the inside had a built in wood bench that followed the curve the whole way. From the outside, it had a black steeped peaked roof, that looked like a witch’s hat. Beyond the waiting room was a ticket counter and an office, followed by a cargo area. The whole building was about 120 feet long, but narrow enough to be transported down the tracks by a moving company.
On the sidewalk, she saw several people she knew, right away. Oh God. Not Joy. There was Joy Potter, a girl she graduated with. She was pushing a double stroller and approaching them on the sidewalk from a side street. Anne would have liked to keep walking, but her mom had already stopped.
“Anne?” she shrieked, “Anne MacFarlane! Where have you been?”
Anne put on her best fake smile and politely replied, “Joy, wow, look at you! Uh, school I guess, haven’t been around much” Her eyes flicked over the two squirming messy toddlers in the stroller. “And the boys, how old are they?”
“The twins will be three in the fall.”
Anne shivered again; glad she had missed that fate. She was quite happy to have escaped small town life and early motherhood. “I’ll bet they are a handful.”
“They keep me busy!” She smiled a little too optimistically and Anne could see the effort that was taking. Just then one of the boys whacked the other in the head with his sippy cup, creating just the diversion Anne needed to escape.
“Well see ya’ around!” Anne called out, sincerely hoping not to. Joy smiled and nodded in response, as she comforted the screaming child.
As her and her mother walked on, she wondered how many more encounters she would have like that today. Probably too many. Her mom was carrying on talking about all of the preparations that the historical society had made in planning the move. There were permits applied for, funds raised by bake sales and raffles, power lines to move, and of course the railroad tracks had to be closed to train traffic. Trains only came through town about twice a week anyway, so that was not a big loss.
As they turned the corner onto Bridge Street, she could see for the first time the full scope of the festival. There were craft booths, games for children, and a large metal hog roaster in front of the bar. People, all whom she knew, were milling around and chatting. T-shirts with the depot on them were a hot seller. Children were running around, playing with their prizes and balloons. There was a food booth, the portable kind from the county fair, which was selling corn dogs and cotton candy. A stage was set up, with the high school band director and his wife singing songs and playing guitars.
Her mom stopped to talk to some church women and Anne patiently waited. She spotted her ex-boyfriend’s mom and quickly looked the other way. She hadn’t seen Keith since the summer after graduation. It was an ugly breakup, and his mom had enjoyed it too much, said that Anne wasn’t the right kind girl. Actually that meant that Anne wasn’t Catholic. How that could possibly matter in a small town like this was beyond her. That ought to trigger some nightmares tonight, she thought as she sighed. At least Keith wasn’t here.
They came the final block toward the train tracks that crossed Bridge Street. Looking left down the tracks, she saw the depot. At 168,000 pounds, it was a surreal sight perched on giant I beams resting on axels. Large trucks were pulling it down the tracks toward the new lot, just off the edge to the North between the tracks and the river. Trees had been cut down on both sides to accommodate the extra machinery. The pace of movement was so slow that it was hard to tell if it was moving at all. It was expected to take seven hours to get it down the tracks, and then it would be moved off and set on a new foundation where it would forever guard the entrance into town. Right next to the sign “Welcome to Saranac, A friendly little village”.
She had always thought it should say “nosey little village”. Many times her parents got phone calls from other villagers to report on her activities. One time she got home to find her mom had gotten a call that Anne had pulled out of the store parking lot too quickly and squealed her tires. It had been no more than ten minutes before her mom had found out. That was what it was like growing up in a small town where everyone knew you, your parents, and everything about you.
This was where the epicenter of the party was. In the middle of it all, there was one picnic table straddling the train tracks. A few people had set their food and drinks on it. Anne blinked and scoffed at the same time. Wow, that seemed stupid. “What idiot would put a picnic table on the train tracks?”
“The same idiots who put the whole depot on the tracks?” Mom smiled her goofy smile. “There aren’t going to be any trains today, I told you.”
No sooner had she said the words, than they heard it. A long low whistle coming from the West. Down the tracks.
As people began to realize what was happening, chaos broke out. There was screaming and running; confusion as people were grabbing their children and running away from the area. The train couldn’t stop, there wasn’t enough track. The train cut through the picnic table like it wasn’t even there. As the broken wood was still flying into the grass, the engine smashed into the curved front end of the red depot. The screech of the breaks and the sound of splintering wood exploded into the air of the perfect summer day.
“So, do you want a corndog or what?” her mom asked, breaking through her daydream.
“Geez mom, sometimes I wonder if you know me at all!” she said shaking her head. “Let’s get cotton candy.”
God, these people are hard up for something to celebrate, she thought as they headed for the food booth. Then she smiled to herself realizing that she was one of them too. As much as she hated to admit it, sometimes it was good to belong.
