When I was a young boy, the hobo was a hero to me. Being able to take off at anytime and travel to new places was an adventure and freedom.
I loved the idea of being free even at a very young age. I had a young crazy imagination that was enviable by all my friends. I would tell them I was someday going to hop on a train boxcar and ride it to who knows where. Not knowing where until the train made it’s final stop. Well, that notion never came to pass. I outgrew that desire, but still the hobo still remains as mystical and adventurous to me today.
Whatever happened to the hobo, vagabond, tramp?
I suspect they are still out there traveling along those lonely railroad tracks. I believe in this day of electronic crazies everyone has simply forgotten about them. They just don’t get the exposure like they use to. This is so sad because they have been forgotten. I would also think the hobo chose this way of life not because he was literally homeless, but because this way of life was filled with wonder and freedom.
I remember that old railroad that was located through the woods and over the hill a mile or so from my home. It ran parallel along a river for miles. I loved walking the railroad tracks in the peaceful back-country. There were no modern day sounds to interrupt the calming surroundings. I would walk along the rails for a few miles and along the way I would discover places that had evidence of a traveling hobo that had stopped there at one time to rest. Cold fire ashes, evidence of a camp fire, and a few old rusty empty food cans were strewn about. I would wonder how long ago this old hobo had been here and where he is now.
Memories of those long ago days come to mind today and a wave of yearning to return to that old railroad track that runs long that river. Maybe, I will someday walk through those woods and over the hill and walk those tracks once again. And, maybe, I will be honored to meet a wandering traveler and he will invite me to sit by his campfire to enjoy a cup of coffee.