Before the dawn of time, in a little known corner of the unexplored wilds of the remains of an ancient civilization,.. our intrepid explorers foraged and farmed the produce and domestic accouterments that supplied the hearty folk who braved this rugged frontier as it grew into the village we know today,.
Having ridden the westward rails until they ran out of track their only option was to homestead their now stranded boxcar, as the engineer – finally losing his bearings in a last minute turn – abandoned ship, jumping headlong from the trestle over the narrow mountain pass - and as everyone knows, an engine won’t run if the bearings be gone.
Shocked and bewildered our explorers finally rolled to a stop amid the turns of a gentle brook and winding mountain trail, under the gentle breeze blown oaks and lonely calls of coyote, singing to a fading autumn night – fog, amber hued, slipping quiet as sleeping stars to the sea amid the secrets of the canyon folds.
From deep within the earth, above the shifting of its tectonic core, a call, pulling them to rest. They knew they were home.
And so begins the legend of a home grown box car that saved a nation and helped inspire a generation of pleasant gift giving, well attired women and babies (and men), and the various saved relationship, due to a the perfectly wrapped, last minute present for the forgotten anniversary or birthday.