The Daily Procrastinator

On Thanksgiving weekend of 1969, Betsy Aardsma was murdered in the library at Penn State.  Nearly 40 years later, the crime remains unsolved.  It’s a fascinating story, well worth reading.

We choose to go to the moon

We’re back!

The Daily Procrastinator writers missed a lot while we were out for the month of July, not the least of which was the 40th anniversary of the moon landing.  Unless you were living on a deserted island, you probably already learned nearly everything you needed to know about this historical event.  But just in case you didn’t, I’d like to direct you to a favorite site of mine, Badass of the Week.  In honor of the moon landing, I present Buzz Aldrin, Badass.

In a past life, I worked for a trade magazine that has been in continuous publication since 1869.  As with the rest of the publishing industry, the parent company of this magazine has been hit hard, and yesterday they decimated the ranks of experienced writers, sales reps and business staff, leaving only a skeleton crew.  There is no reasonable way that the remaining staffers can keep this magazine afloat, and I find myself wondering if this is just the last step before shutdown after their big trade show in June.

For perspective: Construction of the Brooklyn Bridge began in 1870, and wasn't completed until 1883. This tower of the bridge was constructed in 1875.

While it’s been years since I had anything to do with the magazine or even that industry, I can’t help but be filled with a terrible sadness for the demise of something that has been a stable presence for generations of skilled craftsmen in a very close-knit industry.  

I know that the world is moving on and getting its information in different ways, but to be on the verge of losing something that’s been in existence since Ulysses S. Grant was president saddens me in ways that I can’t even begin to explain.

In a world that moves faster and faster each year, it seems that it’s the things that go slowly that are most likely to capture our attention.

On Sundays, on an old rail line that was originally part of the first transcontinental railroad, a group of volunteer rail enthusiasts runs train rides through a scenic canyon.  I’ve always been a fan of the Niles Canyon Railway for the enthusiasm of the volunteers and the beauty of the scenic ride.

Today was the day that the regularly operating antique diesel was replaced with an antique steam engine.  I’m not personally knowledgeable about the ins and outs of railroads, but I was raised as the granddaughter of a serious rail enthusiast, and so I have a certain level of appreciation for what these guys are doing out there.  I decided to head out, take some pictures and for the first time in my life, see what an operational steam engine actually sounded like.

I’m not sure why, but I had naively assumed that most of the interested parties would be on the train.  Instead, as I drove through the canyon looking for a place to pull over, I was startled by how many photographers had set up tripods along the line, and how many grandfathers, fathers and little boys were just waiting and watching, as excited as little kids on Christmas morning.

I'm starting to understand why my grandfather was so fascinated with trains.

My little point-and-click camera hardly did the experience justice.  The first thing that you can hear is the faraway but distinctively rhythmic “choo-choo-choo-choo” of the steam engine, echoing through the narrow canyon.  Then it appears around the bend, steam plume rising above the trees.  The wigwag swings at the crossing, warning drivers in the absence of modern gates.  And then, as the train approaches the crossing, the loud howl of the whistle.  A bronze bell clangs on the top of the locomotive, so drowned out by the noise of the steam engine and the whistle that the entire train needs to be practically on top of you before it’s even audible.  And then, it passes, wheels rumbling with the ordinary familiarity of any train, from an antique to a modern Acela.

As soon as the wigwag stopped flashing, most of these watchers ran for their cars to try to catch up to the train at the next crossing.  At points where the canyon road paralleled the tracks, traffic slowed to a crawl.  Even people who admitted that they weren’t anything close to train enthusiasts seemed to find the experience to be a pleasant diversion.

Next year, I’m going to buy myself a ticket and enjoy the experience from the passenger’s perspective.

Someone pointed out this cool site, Historic Aerials.  You plug in an address, just like you would with Google maps, and in addition to a fairly recent shot of your chosen address, you can also look at the same site through time.  For example, I can look back at my current address through 10 other years dating back to 1946, a reminder that this area was once nothing but farm land for miles around.

But the big shock for me was to look at my childhood home.  Yes, the homes themselves have been there since the 1930s, but I was stunned to find that the giant oak tree from my backyard was already enormous in the oldest photo from 1958.  It also appears that the property that my high school was built upon was once a farm, improbably located just outside Philadelphia in the middle of a densely populated county.

If you want to get an idea of the staggering growth of Silicon Valley, do a search for 1 Infinite Loop in Cupertino, California, home of Apple Computer, and pan around to see the surrounding area.  It wasn’t all that long ago that the entire Valley was an orchard.  Now it seems that only iPods grow on trees.