Prickett’s Fort State Park was only about 15 minutes from our house when I was a teenager and young adult. Yet I don’t ever remember going there.

Of course, this isn’t as illogical as it sounds. The son of friends of my parents was killed there, struck by a train, when I was eight or nine years old. (Their daughter is the same age as me, and the memories of the day of the funeral are still sharp.) It just never seemed like a fun place to go.

But, today I decided it was time to leave the past in the past, so we went. It was a little odd, but I’m glad I finally decided to let myself get past it.

Seeing this was very strange. It doesn’t seem as if the tracks should be as overgrown as they now are, when the train was still running when I was a child. Guess that’s a sign of getting old.