Clickety Clack. Clickety Clack.

So we drove home today through the Fraser Canyon.

Somewhere near being across the river from Keefers, we could see a long train that was sitting and waiting on the tracks.

And I was brought back to my childhood years of when I in fact lived in Keefers, in the middle of nowhere.

Those parked trains were a big part of our wilderness playground.

We'd climb the ladders and peek inside the open-top cars or run on top of the boxcars.

We loved to put pennies on the tracks and collect them after the train rolled over them and flattened them to smithereens.

Many a scorching hot day, we'd steal an egg or five from the chicken coop and crack them on the sizzling tracks and watch them fry.

Though I was never brave enough, (I had just finished grade three when we moved away, so I suppose I'm excused for my lack of courage) but the boys used to hang onto the boxcar ladders and test their stupidity, er... I mean bravery, by seeing how long they were willing to hang on when the train started going again, before jumping off.

We loved counting the cars as the trains whizzed by.
Back in the early 70's graffiti was realitively novel and it was a thrill when we saw it.
There were cars stacked high with lumber.
And tanker cars loaded with various fluids.
We saw many cars filled with pinky red potash. To be honest, I don't actually know what that is. But it was pretty.
I loved the black cars piled high with yellow sulfur. I loved the smell. Ok, I actually loved the taste. Yup. I tasted it. And still to this day I like the taste of a burnt match. Hey, don't judge me.

And next to getting to witness and wave to strangers in a passenger train, I think my favourite were the cars loaded with new vehicles.

While my memories were still flooding through my mind, we caught up to and drove alongside another train on our side of the river today. It seemingly went on for miles and miles as we eventually got past it.

And there were no passenger cars. No new vehicles. No lumber. No pretty potash. Not even any graffiti.

Each and every car on both trains were the same:

Made up entirely of flatbed cars each carrying two seacans.

Miles and miles of seacans.

No Canadian natural resources.

No Canadian passengers.

No Canadian-built cars.

It made me a bit sad to consider the changes that have come to our world in the last 50 years.

But I brightened a bit when I scanned up and down the train and wondered if one of those shipping containers was carrying my Amazon package.