I LOVE trains! That mournful whistle. And the way you can peek out the window when rounding a curve and see the engine. Gliding over a lake or river and being able to look straight down into the water
I love the scenery, the mystery, the adventure. When I drive, my eyes are on the road so I miss most of the scenery. And not much mystery, other than that of my bladder making it to the next rest stop. Adventure? Sometimes. I’ve found unexpected little towns and diners, met interesting people.And there’s always the dubious adventure of roadside coffee.
But the train!
Scenery: When we left New Orleans we crossed Lake Ponchatrain and I enjoyed the waves and birds and could see clouds actually forming as I watched. The lake is large enough, I’m sure, to create its own weather. Then on through rural Louisiana and Mississippi, Alabama and Georgia, skimming past small towns, dirt road crossings, and seemingly endless stretches of trackside forest.
Mystery: Will the train depart on time? (it did) Will it arrive on time? (it did) Will I be able to sleep? (not much) Will there be an upper level with an observation car? (yes from Benson to New Orleans, but not from New Orleans to Charlotte) And the biggest mystery, will I end up with a seat mate, and if so, will I be able to tolerate him or her? (turned out to be quite a good match – hi Ben!)
Adventure: Standing in the wrong line for 20 minutes because the man announcing departure had such a heavy accent and mumbled so terribly that I couldn’t understand a word. A man across from me dropping his drawers to tuck in his shirt. A woman in front of me incessantly yapping on her cell phone. A child’s blaring video. Seat hopping to escape the noise and dubious views.
Amtrak is overly air conditioned. Debbie and I found that out the hard way. In a vain attempt to sleep those two nights on the way to New Orleans, we heaped clothing on top of ourselves. On the day we took the trolley rides, we made time to search for and buy some blankets – no easy chore in a city beset with record breaking heat. However, we persevered and found some soft fuzzy blankets. I had to pull mine out shortly after I boarded for Charlotte.
In early afternoon we passed through Tuscaloosa. Outside the window was the twisted remains of the April 27 tornado. Debris ran for miles. The remains of houses and businesses were still strewn across empty lots. Trees were twisted on their trunks or ripped in half. Cleanup crews were still out in force. My stomach twisted like one of the trees.
Kudzu is taking over the south. Originally from Japan, it was brought to the US for erosion control. Now it climbs up tree trunks and hangs from the branches. Entire hillsides are a beautiful carpet of kudzu vine. It strangles the life out of everything it covers.
Supposedly, kudzu is edible for humans when it’s young. Kudzu can be used as forage for livestock, and the bonus is that if it’s eaten for four to five years, the plant will eventually be killed.
Also, kudzu contains isoflavones, one of which is daidzein, and daidzein is a cancer preventive. It can also help with hypertension and diabetes II.
It can be used in soaps and lotions and can even be made into a tea. Its fiber is durable and can be used for rope or clothing.
All I can say is Southerners had better get busy using it, or kudzu will be the only thing left growing south of the Mason Dixon line.