The Changelog

I stepped out the front door Monday morning at 2AM. Our house was a bit warm and stuffy, and I expected a nice, cool breeze. But instead I got a blast of... slightly warmer and stuffier air. Summer must be here.

Terah and I were setting out on a train trip. The train east out of Newton, KS leaves at 3:01AM. We got our bags loaded and set off to the station.

Not long after we got on the train and to our room, the train started moving. Terah fell asleep right away. It's hard for me to fall asleep so quickly the first night of a train trip. The excitement of the upcoming trip keeps me awake. Plus, once I wake up, I usually stay awake. Even if the alarm woke me up at 1:20AM.

This time, I lay awake remembering my ancestors, who migrated from Russia to Kansas in 1874. Some of our trip will follow the same route that they took 132 years ago.

In the train, you hear what sounds like a distant train whistle fairly frequently. It's from the locomotive on our train, but sounds distant because the passenger cars keep the noise out.

We slowed a bit, went around a gentle curve, and the whistle sounded again. Off to one side of the train were the lights of a small town. It's Peabody, KS -- where my ancestors arrived in the middle of the night back in 1874. They were excited to finally be at the end of their journey -- which had taken months and spanned oceans and railroads on two continents. So excited, in fact, that they set off to find their new land in the middle of the night rather than wait for dawn. But how did they cover those 15 miles at night? Did they rent horses and wagons from someone? I couldn't remember, trying to sleep here in the middle of the night.

I'm still awake. I come to a pause in my thoughts and notice the train's horn again. Somewhere ahead, there is a dirt road crossing the tracks. Nobody is there, but the train is sounding its horn to keep them away anyway.

I think back to 1874 in Russia. Not everybody in the Mennonite settlements there left. Those that were too old, too weak, or that couldn't make the trip for whatever reason stayed behind. For most, when they left Russia, they were saying goodbye to their families for the last time. They would never have the opportunity to see them again.

Then their trip began. Through rickety Russian railroads, to long days at sea, then through New York, and on the railroad again, stopping some points along the way. They'd never seen what would be their new home. And there was no going back if it wasn't to their liking. I can only imagine how hard that must have been for this group of German-speaking immigrants from Russia. And how anxious and exciting it would be to finally get off the station and head to their new home.

This group of settlers made quite the impact on Kansas. They brought their "turkey red" winter wheat with them from Russia. This wheat turned Kansas into the world's leading wheat producer. And it helped rescue the ATSF railroad from the precarious financial situation it was in. That was a good move on the railroad's part -- they were the ones that sold land to the Mennonites in Kansas, recruited them to settle in the area, and even built them temporary housing for their first winter in Kansas.

And that's the same railroad we're taveling on now, as I hear the crescendo and then the WHOOSH of a passing train just a few inches from ours.

By now its 4AM. I think back to the train station in Newton, which we left behind just an hour ago. I remembered how earlier in the 20th century, after the Mennonites were well-established in Kansas, they would send off missionaries to other parts of the world -- China or India especially. Those that went off served two 7-year terms. They departed from the Newton train station, just like we had. They probably waited for the train to carry them away in the same room we did. But they knew they wouldn't see their friends, relatives, or home for 7 years.

When missionaries would leave, a large group of church members would accompany them to the station. As the train approached, the people there would start singing their favorite hymns -- a capella, in German. The sound filled the old station, and followed the departing family out onto the platform as they boarded their train. The people leaving weren't the only ones to miss their friends and relatives. Those staying behind would also go 7 years without being able to talk to the missionaries that were departing.

A light flickers by the window. Maybe a yard light, or a small town, or the back side of a warehouse somewhere. Off in the distance, the horn sounds at another crossing.

Time for some sleep.