Old paint may fade, but dreams should never die

I still see it every day.

Just off the Mukilteo Speedway near Harbour Pointe Shopping Center.

It’s an old railroad car.

It sits in the corner of an outdoor lot surrounded by boats, trailers and some old trucks.

When I first saw it several years ago, it was in pretty bad shape. Rust was the primary color. “Shabby” best described the decor.

Over time, though, things started changing. The rust was stopped. Metal was sanded. Primer and paint were applied. Windows and doors were replaced. I think I saw brass fittings mounted.

There was also a bit of mystique to it because, even though I kept seeing improvements, I never saw anyone making them. Probably more due to the time of day I drove by than anything else.

This went on for a year, maybe more. Never really kept track of it. During that time, though, there were days when I saw something new and quietly said to myself, “Nice work. Really nice work.”

Something else I remember was feeling good whenever I saw that car because I thought I was watching someone’s dream come true. Someone a bit off the wall perhaps – who, after all, would renovate an old railroad car in a storage lot? Still, it was the bright spot of a lot of dreary commutes.

That railroad car also had me wondering if it was someone’s (darn good) idea of a cabin. It looked comfortable and would probably hold up well in the woods. If it was to be a cabin, though, I was curious as to how they were going to move it. That, my friends, was going to require one truly impressive flatbed.

We all have dreams. Mine has been to build a hunting cabin on a few acres near Twisp. I’ve walked the property and have even had the plans drawn up. Unfortunately, something always seems to get in the way. Fear of plunking down the cash is a big part of it, but I come by that fear honestly. I’ve learned (believe me, I’ve learned) that putting three kids through college eats money at a truly impressive pace. Ask my loan company. They love me. Still, I keep telling myself: “One day.”

So, I kept watching. Then, over time, I began noticing something else. The work had stopped. Nothing more was being done. It took time but, eventually, the paint began to fade, the brass dulled and the varnish started cracking.

The roof held up the longest. It took a few years for the black paint to peel, but it finally did. At first it was only a small patch here and there that bubbled up and fell away. Then, the weather took hold and really began to take a toll. Now, the roof paint is falling off in large swatches and a lot of bare metal is exposed.

I’ve been tempted to call the storage yard and ask the manager about that railroad car. I’m sure there’s a story to be told, and I’d bet he’d be willing to tell it. But I haven’t done that yet and I’m not sure I’m going to.

You see, after all these years, I still have my dream of a hunting cabin on a few acres. It may take time and it may look to others like it’s never going to happen. But all of that doesn’t matter, because I’m not letting it go.

I like to think that the owner of that railroad car has just been diverted for a while. Maybe, like me, he or she has a few kids to put through college and the money’s a bit tight. Maybe, in a few years, they’ll get past the tight spot and it’ll look great again.

Then, one day, there’ll be a story in the paper and the owner will tell us about what it took to finish the job. And, as part of that story, I hope someone will remember to take a picture of whatever humongous flatbed trailer will be used to carry that railroad car. I’m just curious about things like that.

I also like to believe that somewhere in the story there’ll be a mention of how it had always been a dream and, even though things got sidetracked for a while, there was never a thought of giving up.

I like to think that way because dreams should never die.

Fade a bit and maybe even fray a little around the edges.

But never die.

Because we need dreams.

Even dreams involving old railroad cars.

They’re what keep us going.

And make us better.

Larry Simoneaux lives in Edmonds. Comments can be sent to larrysim@att.net.