A cloud of nostalgia dims the brilliance of Edaville lights when we think of this side of the story. Last of the two-foot gauges. Final survivor of the colorful midgets that once puffed around our heterogeneous land.
Want to look it over? I thought so; Mr. Atwood is busy right now, and why wouldn’t he be with the biggest one-man cranberry plantation on earth, plus a little million civic and philanthropic affairs to see to? I’ll show you around. Come on!
Here we are—the screenhouse. Cranberry bogs have screenhouses the same as railroads have trains. These screenhouses, where berries are cleaned and graded and prepared for market, may be anything from a rough shed to this super structure here. This is the first one of its kind, too: a big, yet compact, brick show-place housing not only the berry equipment and the car shops, the company offices including Mr. Atwood’s own private sanctum (most admired spot in Edaville!), but brimming with storage space as well.
(Hosmer Photo)
Mr. Atwood’s model screenhouse, the finest in the world, built in 1940 at a cost of—well, that doesn’t matter.
The railroad really begins here. Maybe that’s because the first rails were laid into it for car repairing. There, clustering around like chicks with Mama Hen, is the railroad station and most of the yards.
(Moody Photo)
No dieselization on the Edaville. Here passenger extra No. 7 sails past work train on sandpit spur.