The smell is the most distinguishing feature, an assortment of spruce trees and smoke along with oxidizing iron and copper. It’s the northern moss freshly moistened by the morning dew that really defines the scene. Its unique scent drifts upward from between the cracks in the cobblestone where vegetation resides. However, the buzzing in your ear is characteristic of any social or economic hub: cliques of adults chatting, clusters of children giggling, masses of vendors peddling, and a few officials hectoring rabble-rousers. Your trained eye spots and appreciates elements of the wilderness all around the center. Squirrels dart from trees to trash cans in search of food, a bald eagle stoically perches on a telephone poll, and a stream (builders adroitly incorporated into the square) showcases a variety of cod, salmon, and pike. Off in the shadows a fox stalks the crowds, waiting in the snow for the chance to snatch up an unattended meat product and bolt. You feel sympathy for the small mammal for as you walk toward your destination, for your limited senses also detect the savory aroma. Spiced pork and smoked fish fuse in the air with freshly baked bread and pastries to create a crave-inducing concoction. You start to stray from your path, eyeing the assortment of commodities in the nearby stores, but you look upon your target and force yourself keep on marching.
People are bustling in and out of the train station, some are in a rush and others meander through or visit the market area. As you make your way through the grandiose entrance, you take of your coat and brush off the thin layer of snow and sleet covering it. The station is warm and alive, making you notice how numb your body had been in the cold. You hang your jacket over one arm, holding it tight, and continue to carry your briefcase with the other arm as you make you way to the ticket booth. Your ears throb and your heart pounds with the pumping of the pistons form incoming and outgoing engines. In most cases the din caused by these monstrous machines would produce a headache; however, in a train station the clangor actually excites its audience, propelling them through their tasks and increasing their exhilaration for the oncoming adventure.
You have you head rested against the window as you sit in your isolated booth. Long ago you entered the cabin and made yourself comfortable in a seat; yet, you still remained courteous incase a fellow traveler decided to join you. Long ago the conductor and train staff came through checking for tickets to Edmont, asking if everyone was content, and distributing refreshments for the trip. Long ago you left the city of Vancouver. Long ago you were massaged into a relaxed stasis by the soft vibrations of the cabin. Now you stir, content with rest you have already obtained and look for a source of stimulation. Your sight wanders out the window, admiring the view you had taken for granted just seconds ago. The white apexes of the Selkirk reach for the skies and tall, luscious conifers sprout up all along the mountain sides. You think back to Betty’s proposal: “Think of the money you could make in Chicago! The whole city is growing faster than you could believe, and all them people are gonna need some furniture, right? Forget Freddy, move your business down to the United States, we just elected Cleveland and he said he’s gonna help the little man fight the big companies. Whataya say John?”
You take one last glance at the majestic landscape before you and you close your eyes. Forget Chicago and forget Becky. These woodlands are where I belong, these mountains are my inspiration. I could never leave them, this is my home.