Northminster Express

In the fall of 2021, my good friend Chris Parrott generously hosted members of my wonderful congregation for a Saturday excursion on his much-hailed Azalea Sprinter. 45 Presbyterians rode a motorcoach from Macon down to little Nashville, Georgia, where first we enjoyed a picnic lunch and the farmers marker under sunny and blue October skies. Thereafter was the first time in 25 years of pastoral ministry I was able say "All aboard!" to a group of my congregants. My people had the run of both the table car and the coach, and a great time was had by all as we glided our way up to Willacoochee and back. I say "glide" for a reason. CPR has done an amazing job steadily bringing this former Norfolk Southern branch back to life; smooth running from start to finish, easy work for the already-comfortable suspension carrying their classic Budd rolling stock.

For a few in my flock, it was their first time on a genuine passenger train. For many, it rekindled old memories of previous trips. Lots of my Macon Presbyterians can remember seeing or riding the Central's Nancy Hanks, for instance. For one among us, the ride to Willacoochee was a climb up his family tree: His grandfather had been a section foreman for the fabled Georgia & Florida road, on whose right of way our little excursion travelled. What's more, our trip was the debut outing for CaterParrott's latest motive power acquisition: a genuine long-body E8A with New York Central roots, by way of the Tennessee Central museum. After interchange in Valdosta, she arrived in Nashville under her own power a few weeks before. But our excursion was her first time pulling passengers for her latest in a long line of owners, the Sprinter. A break in run, you might say. Ella and cannot wait to see 5000 in her forthcoming CaterParrott blue. And speaking of dressed to the nines: My great pal Gragg Robinson was once again in full uniform as conductor for the run. No nicer guy in railroading, anywhere.

A smooth and leisurely ride through the cypress-lined south Georgia flatlands, under the care of a classic New York Central motor and some generous human hosts, and the fellowship of faithful folk simply enjoying themselves after 18 months of pandemic isolation: Now that's what I call going to church.