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.
Possibly related posts:
Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.
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.
Leave a comment