Summerville Steam Special

When my old railfan pal Gordon Payne proposed we take a ride behind 4501 this summer, now that she is again (briefly?) dressed up in green, I said: "Yes, sir! The Hawkins are in!" Gordo has a decade-plus on me in this railfan hobby, but our respective exposures to Southern's 1911 Ambassador were both tinted in that beautiful Pacific passenger green — the scheme she was wearing in the 1970s and 80s as she pulled trips out of our New Orleans home base, and out of everywhere. So we settled on a summer Saturday. Gordon was so kind to treat us to tickets in honor of my Old Man, and we included the spouses and family because — well, of course! A Southern Lady as gracious a host as our beloved Baldwin should be experienced by everyone in our clans. She did not disappoint.

She pulled away from East Chattanooga nearly on time, ten cars in steady tow. No diesels in support, no more than 20 miles per hour all day, and no issues detectable from our vantage point rear of the tender. (I saw one slip, pulling away from Summerville, heavy with fresh water and lunched patrons.) It was such a wonderful ride, precisely for its normalcy and easy motion. I know all about the Queen of Steam and her mainline thrills; I love that speed as much as any red-blooded American. But I tell you: This Summerville trip behind the Green Goddess confirmed for me that some of the finest steam railroading is transportation with less than 20 cars at less than 20 miles per hour. We ambled along all day, and she never missed a beat. I know she could do more; I've seen her do more (with help). But restraint requires class, and there's something to be said for taking one's time and doing a route well. A relaxed gait over sectioned rail through the piney woods of the South she was built to serve: Now that's railroading well done, in the Older Way.

And lately she is doing it so very well. The green, yes. Of course. It looks fantastic. But really I mean the locomotion. She is a well-running machine, especially for 115 years old. My dad always said 4501 looks like an American steam locomotive is supposed to look. To which I add: She also sounds like a steam locomotive is supposed to sound. Several times that Saturday I made my way to an open vestibule (First Class seating, as far as HawkinsRails is concerned), closed my eyes, smelled the acrid smoke, listened to the aged synchronization and the clink-clank of the chassis, and waited on the whistle reports. I thought about my dad and his love for Mr. Merriman's machine. I thought about my childhood spent in Lookout Mountain but under her spell. I thought about the marvel of machinery that keeps coming back from the dead and almost seems and sounds better than ever. As she rumbled sure-footed across yet another north Georgia grade crossing, holding that last long chord until in the clear, I leaned over to my wife, who had briefly joined me in said vestibule. "This is my Green Bough," I stage-whispered. She understood my meaning. My retreat. My sanctuary. My home. That green-washed cadence has been the soundtrack of my life.