Back and Forth
“I’ve got a feeling we’re not in Chicago anymore.”
This year in May, I will celebrate living in Chicago for 50 years. The day after I graduated from Tabor College, which is located in my hometown, Hillsboro, Kansas, I packed up all my belongings and moved to Chicago. Hillsboro, a town of about 2,700, is known for its Mennonite heritage and Tabor College was founded by the Mennonite Brethren Church. Most of my kindergarten classmates were from Mennonite families and also graduated with me in high school.
After moving to Chicago, I traveled to Kansas to visit my family at least once a year, often taking the Amtrak train back and forth between Chicago and Newton, Kansas (30 miles from my hometown). The SouthWest Chief still departs from Chicago’s Union Station everyday at 2:50 p.m. and arrives, on a good day, in Newton, Kansas at 2:41 a.m.
The 700 mile trip between Chicago and Hillsboro takes about 12 hours at best, but my heart doesn’t pay attention to distance and certainly doesn’t follow train schedules.
My trips from Chicago to Hillsboro began with me wheeling my suitcase noisily over curbs and bumps to the nearest CTA train stop. Somehow, I lugged my heavy suitcase up the narrow, uneven stairs to the train platform, where I waited for the next train. Soon, I heard the familiar sound of the train wheels screeching as it rolled around the curve. I stepped back as the train pulled up inches besides me. When the doors opened, I dashed in quickly to get a seat and protectively pulled my suitcase close.
While the train headed towards the Chicago’s Loop, I watched the urban landscape passing by: graveyards, church bell towers, Wrigley Field, shopping districts, traffic, graffiti, pedestrians walking, and apartment buildings built only feet from the train, until the train descended into a dark tunnel and became a subway.
When the train arrived downtown, I climbed the stairs back up to the sidewalks and joined commuters rushing to and from Union Station. After I passed Willis Tower and looked up to admire its massiveness, and I crossed the Chicago River and looked down at the boats and its green waters, I have arrived at Union Station. (See photos below)
Union Station’s Great Hall is endlessly interesting, with a diversity of travelers from all over the world waiting for their trains. I followed the crowds and found my way to the gate for the Southwest Chief. There were smells from dozens of food vendors tempting me to buy something I would regret later. There were several trains waiting to depart with steam bellowing from the engines, and crew crowding the platform. I made sure I got on the right train. At exacly 2:41 p.m. the train slowly crawled out of the station. I saw the sky again, and I was on my way to Kansas.
In the middle of the night, the porter signaled that Newton was the next stop. I found my stored suitcase, lugged it to the exit doors, and looked out the windows into the middle of the night. I looked for the familiar landmarks of Newton, the grain elevators, traffic, and the warehouses near the train station.
When I finally stepped off the train, I saw my dad waiting for me beside his 4-door green Ford parked just feet from the train tracks. There are no crowds or traffic and it’s quiet. It smelled like Kansas. Almost home.
Dad drove on the highway for about 20 minutes, then turned onto the “13 mile road” as it is called locally, a narrow two lane country road ending in Hillsboro. With the sun coming up, I saw Hillsboro’s massive grain elevator and the white water tower on the horizon. We sped past familiar farms; my dad knew most of the Mennonite farmers who lived on these farms. Lines of trees marked the miles; planted as a conservation effort after the dust storms of the 1930’s. We crossed over the barely visible Cottonwood Creek. I admired the cows and occasional horse. Then, I finally saw the homes on the edge of town; the city park with its golf course, the hospital, the two ponds, the gas station owned by a former classmate, and I knew I was finally home. It’s still early and quiet, everything is closed, I didn’t see anyone, maybe a car or two on the highway.
When I travel home, I look for Hillsboro’s grain elevator on the horizon.
On trips home, I often take walks to revisit my memories. I remember walking along the railroad tracks, bicycling all around town, visiting grandparents, checking out books from the library and exploring hiding places in tree groves. Hillsboro is crowded with my memories.
After a few days, I traveled back to Chicago. My dad drove me back to Newton and I boarded the SouthWest Chief in the middle of the night. As the train started to move, Chicago felt distant, almost unreal, to me, as far away as another planet. But I knew that once I arrived in Chicago, Hillsboro would feel like a dream. I am in that in between space. My heart loves both places, but doesn’t know how to hold both at the same time. My heart and I can only go back and forth.
Take it or leave it suggestion #24 Take an Amtrak train back and forth on your next trip.
