Sherry Chandler » Racing a train…
Racing a train…
I. J. Chandler, 1942, with his son’s Percherons, Daisy & Dodgen.
My grandfather, I. J. Chandler, had a buggy horse named Dan. Old Dan was a pacer known for his speed. Occasionally, Dad-Dad would take my grandmother, Lizzie Shupert Chandler, for an overnight visit with her uncle on the Sparta – Glencoe road. Sparta was a thriving depot back then and the railroad ran south from Glencoe. When time came to depart, Dad-Dad would load his family into the buggy and indulge in a long country farewell until time for the train to pass through. At just the right moment, he’d let Old Dan go and race the train for the crossing.
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2 Comments
1. Max replies at 25th April 2008, 8:54 pm :
Thanks for another of your pictures plus the story. I guess you are going to have to email it to me like before.
Granny’s uncle would likely have been Dr. Shupert, one of his two sons was killed on a house visit when a horse kicked him in the head. I believe his name was Wesley, I spoke to his brother Harlan about 10 years ago in Indiana, he was a retired Dentist at that time, has since passed away.
At times I go back to the days when I was young, no more satisifying feelings than thinking of things they did and how much I enjoyed being with them.
Dad Dad would take me on Old Happy and ride over to Elk (once in the rain) to see to things (I guess). I thought so much of them.
2. sherry replies at 27th April 2008, 12:06 pm :
You know, Max, I used to think a day over on Elk with Dad-Dad was as good as being entertained
I wish I had been more aware in those days.
Wednesday night I drove down to Danville with a fellow poet to hear Paul Muldoon, an internationally famous poet, read at Centre College. In the Q&A, some one said to him, more or less, “Much of your poetry is about animals. Were you immersed in nature as a child?”
To be honest, I thought it was a sort of obvious question but Muldoon gave it a serious answer, which has stuck with me. He said that a child is sort of like a little animal. A calf, say, has no sense of itself, of its identity, as a calf, and no more does a child have a sense of its identity. It just is. And the world s/he lives in just is.
Certainly, that is the way I spent much of my childhood. Anything I absorbed, I got by a sort of osmosis.
I’ll send a copy of the photo along tomorrow. It’s on my computer at work. What I posted is cropped out of a wider shot that includes another sled & team and Papaw Tim. I’ll send you both versions.
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