By Richard Mabey Jr.

Author’s Note: In this true-life story, I changed the name of the owner of the old apple orchard in Towaco.

Writing this series of remembrances of my late, beloved father has been such a golden opportunity for me to reflect upon the life of my dad. My grandparents were blessed to have the big open field, beside their home to grow corn, tomatoes, and other vegetables. Apple trees abounded on the property of the old Mabey Homestead along Mabey Lane. Then, the house that my dad grew up in, at the end of Mabey Lane was surrounded by woods on all three sides. My grandfather was an ace marksman and would hunt for food for his family.

My grandmother, my dad’s older brothers and his sister, often told me about Dad’s train set. Dad often told me the story of how, at the age of 11, he got a full set of Lionel trains for Christmas. In many ways, that one single gift changed my father’s life. First and foremost, I think Dad’s love for model trains, inspired his imagination to develop and grow. And, I think it gave him a wonderful opportunity to understand the workings of a community. For Dad was essentially creating his own little town, that surrounded his ever-growing train tracks.

As the days passed, Dad’s love for model trains just grew and grew. He and his younger brother, Carl, would work at Old Man Shevchuk’s apple orchard, just north of the old Morris Canal. Carl was 13 months younger than Dad. They were very close brothers, and if truth be told, they were best friends. Dad and Uncle Carl would work in Old Man Shevchuk’s apple orchard after school and on Saturdays.

Dad would save his earnings to buy more train tracks, little plastic houses and stores, miniature people, park benches, and miniature trees for his masterpiece train set up. Originally, Dad had his train set laid out in his bedroom, that he shared with his brother Carl. In time, Dad convinced his father to allow him to set up saw horses and two full-sized sheets of plywood, in the upstairs hallway for his train village.

An interesting note is that when Dad left home to join the U. S. Army Air Corps, he bequeathed his brother Carl to be in charge of his train village. Uncle Carl would be responsible for watching their younger brothers, David, Gerald, and William play with the elaborate train set, but be careful with it at the same time.

As a boy, and in his time of coming of age, my father was painfully shy. Working on his train set display, gave my father a golden opportunity to develop imaginative thinking. My Uncle Carl once told me that my dad was forever changing the train layout.

I have but one photo of Dad’s train set up. My grandmother gave it to me while I was attending County College. Back then, I would often visit Grandma on Wednesday afternoons. I had two morning classes on Wednesdays, and I would be done with all my classes then by high noon. Since I worked every Saturday at a grocery store, Wednesday was devoted to my time to visit my grandmothers.

This picture shows Dad’s train set in a stage where Dad was revising and recreating the layout. I cherish this picture because it helps me to understand the heart, mind, and spirit of my dad, from when he was about 12 years old. My Uncle Carl also told me that Dad would spend hours upon hours working on his train layout. Dad was very generous in allowing his four younger brothers to play with his train set, but he made it crystal clear that they needed to be careful not to break anything.

At the time of my writing this story, it is only a few days before my 68^th birthday. Now as I enter old age, I so deeply regret that I didn’t pay closer attention to my dad whenever he would reminisce about his train set village. I regret that I didn’t ask him more questions about it.

I remember that when I was 11 years old, Dad and I set up a little village beneath our Christmas Tree. It was a very special time for both of us. Dad got out his cardboard box of plastic houses and stores. You had to assemble them, the sides of the buildings would snap in place. For Dad, each miniature house and store was a memory unto itself.

How many of us have looked into the eyes of our father? Saw him as a vulnerable man, with his own fears and anxieties of life. If your dad is still on this side of Heaven’s Gate, please do take the time to talk with him about his childhood days. And, if your dad has passed onto the Heavenly Worlds, take the time in prayer and contemplation, to communicate with his spirit. In reverent spirit, hold dear to heart thy precious memories, and guard them well.

Richard Mabey Jr. is a freelance writer. He can be reached at richardmabeyjr@hotmail.com. Please put on the subject line: My Life Publications.