Feb. 2020
“Every time we do this…take a ride on country roads…I see some changes that are unpleasant.”
“Reminds me of that sad song by Arlo Guthrie describing the last ride on a train
through the heartland of America. I think the train route was about to be cancelled.
Arlo Guthrie – The City Of New Orleans Lyrics
www.lyricsfreak.com/static/images/txtstripes_large.gif); font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: 30px; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; min-height: 598px; position: relative;”>Riding on the City Of New Orleans
Illinois Central, Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders
Three Conductors; twenty-five sacks of mail
All along the southbound odyssey – the train pulls out of Kankakee
And rolls along past houses, farms, and fields
Passing trains that have no name, and freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobile
Good morning, America, how are you?
Say, don’t you know me? I’m your native son
I’m the train they call the City Of New Orleans
I’ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done
Dealing card games with the old man in the Club Car
Penny a point – ain’t no one keeping score
As the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels rumbling ‘neath the floor
And the sons of Pullman Porters, and the sons of Engineers
Ride their father’s magic carpets made of steel
And, mothers with their babes asleep rocking to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel
Good morning, America, how are you?
Say, don’t you know me? I’m your native son
I’m the train they call the City Of New Orleans
I’ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done
Night time on the City Of New Orleans
Changing cars in Memphis Tennessee
Halfway home – we’ll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness, rolling down to the sea
But, all the towns and people seem to fade into a bad dream
And the steel rail still ain’t heard the news
The conductor sings his songs again – the passengers will please refrain
This train got the disappearing railroad blues
Good night, America, how are ya?
Said, don’t you know me? I’m your native son
I’m the train they call the City Of New Orleans
I’ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done
“What does this bring to mind?”
“The artwork of A.J. Casson, Group of Seven.”
“Right…same sort of creamy colour and feels like a building whose life was once rich and
now faces an uncertain future.”
“I read once that big barns like this soon collapse once the animals are gone.”
“True, I think. The animals kept heat in the barns during winter time…less freezing
and movement of timbers.”
“Probably not true. People just cannot maintain these barns. Once the roof starts to get holes…water creep in and
then rot and before long things seem to come apart.”
“Field stone foundations crack and never get retouched”
“Not much can be done. Expensive to repair.”
“Impossible to repair unless money comes from some source other than farming.”
“Soon there is just a house … a lonely house. A farm needs a barn to make sense.”
“Here is the future for many farms…earth moving machines ready to level the land for urban housing.”
“Not all is lost.”
“This fellow seems to collect derelict farm machines…dozens of them.”
“Must sell them.”
“Not often. They all seem to be here each time we pass by.”
“This was once a thriving farm. Then the barn began to sag…show signs of disuse. Then it collapsed.”
“Looks like the house will soon be gone as well.”
“Absentee land owners…maybe…buying up real estate.”
“Creemore coming soon.”
“No customers today?”
“Too cold.”
“My, those are nice samples.”
“Pictures are not always what they seem.”
“What do you mean?”
“here you hold the sample , while I get this picture.”
