Unless you live under a rock somewhere, you probably heard about the Big Boy. If you were insane enough to brave the chaos in one local town, maybe you even got to see it up close.

If you missed it, don’t worry, it will be passing through our area again in July.

A railroad track passes directly in front of our house, and we live very close to a local “hot spot” for both train and fall foliage viewing. Over the years the tracks have seen a wide range of use.

At times, they were empty enough that our family enjoyed cross-country skiing down them, to the local pizza place, which was just a short climb up the hill from the tracks across town. Currently, there are large freight trains running almost daily, in addition to sightseeing tours, so under no circumstance do we go anywhere near them.

The trains, I love. The people that they bring with them, not so much. People tend to show a great disregard for “private property” signs when it comes to chasing trains. When word spread that the Big Boy would be making an unscheduled run on Sunday morning, it didn’t take long for the air over my house to become thick with drones, and my driveway blocked by other people’s cars. So much for a peaceful Sunday morning.

But, that’s not the point. The point of today’s writing is that, in the presence of 1.2 million pounds of train, I, too, become an absolute train nerd. Upon hearing that it would be passing our home, I quickly woke up the kids. Well, I woke up two of the kids; G was already at work in his garden. “The Big Boy is coming, the Big Boy is coming,” I shouted, like some modern-day Paul Revere.

Bleary-eyed, they made their way down to the porch, still wrapped in their blankets. I scurried down to a closer vantage point in the garden where I would have a bird’s-eye view and hopefully score some good video as it barreled along.

When about 10 minutes passed, and it hadn’t shown up yet, A and E both asked if they could go back to bed, and I could wake them when it got closer. We had about a four-second viewing window that a train that large would fill quickly. I told them to stay put.

My dad always loved traveling by train, and while I was in college, I used the train to go back and forth from Boston a few times. There is definitely something hypnotic about traveling by train, and A has decided it’s his favorite way to travel as well. Even today’s diesel and electric engines, while they don’t have the chug-chug of the old steamies, have a rhythm and sway to them.

Pretty soon, I heard the distinctive whistle in the distance, and not long after that, I could feel the earth start to vibrate. And then, there it was: the chug-chug, over and over again. I was not surprised to find myself getting a little emotional. Every time I see one of the old steam engines, I remember my dad’s childlike glee as they would pass the house. And I remember the boys’ obsession with Thomas the Tank Engine when they were little and taking them to ride on the Thomas train at Strasburg.

Then the history nerd in me thinks about those behemoths, chugging across the Transcontinental Railroad, powered by anthracite coal.

I think about that chug-chug sound, as the train pulled into isolated outposts across the country, bringing supplies, technology and communication from all over the world with it. I think about the farmers, who watched that train cutting across their fields, taking their crops and livestock to cities they themselves would never see.

As it got closer, belching out that thick black smoke, I was also reminded that they have some downsides, but I shoved that thought to the back burner for the moment, and just enjoyed watching the engine barrel forward.

With a few “that was cool” comments, the kids asked if “that was it” and headed back to their business. A and E to bed, and G was heading to the hardware store. Of course, his way was blocked by some overzealous train buffs who had blocked our driveway yet again.

I don’t think I’m that much of a train buff that I’d fight a crowd to see the Big Boy up close. It is enough to watch it pass by from the porch, or the garden, but I have to say, I am more than a little excited, knowing that it’s going to come this way again.

Liz Pinkey’s column appears on Saturdays in the Times News