So what is this?
This is a very short work, prompted by the following two quotes:

“Talk, loudly and frequently and in detail, about the future you want. You can’t manifest what you don’t share.”
~ Madeline Ashby

And

“Remember to imagine and craft the worlds you cannot live without, just as you dismantle the ones you cannot live within.”
~ Ruha Benjamin

~~~~~~~~~~~~

An encounter at the tram station.

One thing was true, the best job in the area was with the tramway co-op. Even on those stormy, winter days when everyone was grumpy, cold, and the snow plowing car put the time tables in the bit bucket. 

"Move to the city where opertuiniy grows", said the sign on the wall at each small station. Left over from the fading time of the great migration. Folks around here left them up as an ironic reminder. A joke about the end of the automobile era. And the promise of the 15 minute city. 

Today my tram was 20 minutes late, and the crew of two had grown to four as the snow plow, and the "overhead" safety officer had to ride along. Our regular two cars, had grown to four. The plow, the heated passenger car, one cargo bike car, and the extra mail car. So things were wee busy. Each stop down the hill into town took extra time, and extra care in loading and unloading. 

Coming into the Mill Creak station, I saw that it was full of passengers, bikes, and packaged goods. All needing to get somewhere, despite the mixed flurries, and the cold temps. The whole economy of this rural part of Oregon depended on the tramway. Its ability to move people and goods cheaply and on time.

The station master here, a tall rangy woman of native ancestry, was stoic in her radio chatter to us, letting us know that we might be over capacity and that she had called in for an "extra". Another two car tram, to follow us, pulled from a siding about 14 miles back. But the on call crew had not yet gotten it up and running. Central dispatch was also politely asking us to take on a "full load" meaning, cram as many folks onboard as we could. 

We all new this was because we were on the down hill run, and the regenerative braking of a full load, put much more energy back into the system than it used. But we also new that passengers hated it when we did this, as it meant standing room only as we folded up half the sitting capacity. 

Mill Creak was one of the newer stations, large and well built, it had all the latest tech, and many an out building. A sort of community hub. Tea house, dinning room, even a nice Onsen. Today it was a busy place, and I knew this stop would delay us more, as loading and unloading would be crazy making. But surprising it didn't. 

So this happened at Mill Creak that day. The station had noticed the crowd, and handed out donuts, coffee, tea, and sweets for the kids. So everyone was in a good mood. The place had turned up the geothermal heating, and there were local musicians playing in the main hall. Locals were pitching in as loaders, and unloaders, and the mail car was quickly set in order. Word was announced that the "extra" was on the way. People were in no hurry to cram into a standing only car.

Spontaneous mutual aid was afoot. And the tramway co-op was not about to get in its way. I was at the bike car loading door, getting things settled in, when the usual chaos of cargo bike unloading was stoped, by the sound of low flying airplanes screaming overhead. This never happened as jets in this part of the country were most rare. Not seen, nor heard in a long time.

They were flying west, toward the coast. Shrieking past in groups of three. Maybe 800 or 900 feet above us. Folk were standing, open mouths slack, staring up at the sky. What was all this about? My radio was crackling with static. People were not panicking, but moving back into the station. I went to the passenger car, where radio reception was always a bit better. But everyone was talking at the same time. Making the radio useless. 

War? Aliens? Nobody knew. But everyone was checking their devices. Like the old days, people were completely absorbed in their handhelds. Then dispatch overcame the radio static and put us on hard hold. This would stop all tram movement up and down the line. Sure it was in the training, but had never happened. We scrambled to set the hard, manual breaks, and secure the cars. Then moved into the station.

The word finally came over the station PA. A major earthquake had shattered the Juan de Fuca plate. Tsunami warnings had gone up from North of Vancouver Canada, all the way down the Oregon coast. All traffic was now in the control of emergency services. We weren't going anywhere. All tram fairs were redeemable at the office, and folks were encouraged to go home. Nobody did. 

Here is the thing about rural communities. We take care of each other. Nobody panics, they just get busy. Ad-hoc groups were formed to help travelers far from home. Food, medical aid, and hospitality groups sprang up, as if they had always been there. Communication hubs we're up and running. No it was not a party, people were grim, but not shaken. Things needed to get done.

Total. I spent 4 days in Mill Creak. First moving the tram to a siding so emergency trams could use the line. Then staying in a lovely house, not far from the station. When orders came to resume our regular schedule I was a bit sad, but glad to get back to work. 

Did I say, that the best job in the area was with the tramway co-op. So it is. We are the artery, through which rural life flows.