If Whipped Cream Went on Strike, The Result Would Be Drywall Cement

It's been a very busy day in Salmon Bay, my hometown. The first rails were laid at the Port of Salmon Bay Pier. Now all they need to do is build the pier. They finally fired up that box cab and ran it around for a bit. Needs paint and decals but by God she runs if in fits and starts and with a wonderous amount of noise. She runs and that is half he battle. Doesn't gaurenntee victory however. Of course tommorow it'll be front page news. The Plymouth #10 had a bit of a fit and was put into the shop, while the GN boxcar fell off the edge of the world. They are trying to salvage what they can but it looks to be a loss. Maybe it'll decorate the yard as a storage barn. It's beginning to look and feel like a proper railroad.
For some of you who may not have been in Salmon Bay, let me tell you a bit about it. It's a very sleepy town, nestled in the crook of Lake Union, just down the ship canal from the locks. They tried to drag it into the city in the 30's but it just didn't happen. Salmonites are fiercly independant. It's almost as if the town is all by itself there. There is one general store and one church. A bakery and a fishing shop. The milk is still carried by hand and the newspaper boy has the best arm in town.
The railroad is the life blood of this town. Sure there's a road but it's for it's for plasure not buisness. And almost everyone has a boat. You learn to sail before you drvie. But it's the railroad that makes Salmon Bay what it is.
The wail of a M5 horn in the mnornin wakes people up in the morning and is their companion throughout the day. Loads in empties out. Interchange traffic to work, blowing for the Coates crossing on every move, the crash and bang of couplers. Almost all the switching is done by noon, at which point the coastal fog lifts and glorious sunshine fills the town. The local is assembled and rumbles out and the town gets quite again. It's not uncommon for a fishing boat or small cargo vessel to pull up in need of unloading after the local has left. Even still they'll fire up another engine and get done what needs to get done. Because that's how things are done in Salmon Bay. Come dusk the local will creep back into town, it's horn muted in deference to the quiet and shuttered hamlet.
Every other day the noon turn is going in a different direction. Even days it's headed northwest to the industrial doldrums of East Ballard, with it's grimy streets and never ending noise and bustle. Odd days it's southeast towards 62nd Ave NE and the ferry slip, where a buck and a quarter will get you a ride to to downtown Seattle, if that's where the cargo is headed. And if the ferry is running that day.
It's not a bad place to grow up, Salmon Bay. I know because I did.