Uploaded February 2026 | Updated September 2026, 1 week ago
We found ourselves a handcar
From a siding long forgot
Rust in all the honest places
Where the rain had done its job
We don’t need a destination
Or a reason to depart
Just a line that keeps on going
And a lever for our arms
We’ll roll out past Mattawa
Past St. Isidore and Vonda
Where the grain bins keep their secrets
And the nights come on like wonder
Past Lac du Bonnet, Hearst, and Minto
Places everyone should see
Safe enough for stopping
When we need to sleep
It’s not a race or proving ground
Just a way of getting through
Steady arms, a turning wheel
And a view that changes slow
Emily rides beside me
Hands wrapped firm around the bar
She’s better with the French than me
The few words I know don’t go that far
I don’t speak it worth a nickel
But she laughs and says it’s fine
There’s more said in how you’re moving
Than the words you leave behind
We’ll carry just a canvas tent
Lay it down when daylight ends
By the whistle of the black spruce
And the ballast ground to sand
No clock but what the body knows
No bed but level land
You sleep different when your pillow
Is your folded clothes and hands
An old engineer once told me
He could quiet the whole affair
With some grease a friend of his
Used to cook up thin as air
But I said we’d keep some noise
Let the world know where we are
So any moose that’s on the crossing
Won’t get surprised by the handcar
You need a little racket
Just to settle in the groove
Every honest rhythm
Helps a body to move
Emily’s mother wanted in
Said she wished she could attend
But her body won’t cooperate
Her knees and patience won’t bend
All she asked was for a pretty stone
From somewhere down the line
But she was hard on Emily growing up
So that choice is hers, not mine
I don’t carry bitterness
I don’t carry much at all
Just what fits upon a handcar
And a faith that when things fall
When the bolts give out and scatter
When the handle bends or breaks
That’s when we’ll know the traveling’s done
And it’s time to stay
We’ll ride it till it tells us
It has nothing left to give
When the handcar comes apart
That’s how we’ll know where to live
Till then we’ll pump and listen
To the sound we choose to make
Rolling through small places
In Canada, along the rails
Past places like
Upsala
or McAdam
A moose by the tracks
a fox cutting across
geese lifting off when they hear us coming
Just rails, trees, and small towns
while we keep pumping
till it’s time to stop
We found ourselves a handcar
From a siding long forgot
Rust in all the honest places
Where the rain had done its job
We don’t need a destination
Or a reason to depart
Just a line that keeps on going
And a lever for our arms
We’ll roll out past Mattawa
Past St. Isidore and Vonda
Where the grain bins keep their secrets
And the nights come on like wonder
Past Lac du Bonnet, Hearst, and Minto
Places everyone should see
Safe enough for stopping
When we need to sleep
It’s not a race or proving ground
Just a way of getting through
Steady arms, a turning wheel
And a view that changes slow
Emily rides beside me
Hands wrapped firm around the bar
She’s better with the French than me
The few words I know don’t go that far
I don’t speak it worth a nickel
But she laughs and says it’s fine
There’s more said in how you’re moving
Than the words you leave behind
We’ll carry just a canvas tent
Lay it down when daylight ends
By the whistle of the black spruce
And the ballast ground to sand
No clock but what the body knows
No bed but level land
You sleep different when your pillow
Is your folded clothes and hands
An old engineer once told me
He could quiet the whole affair
With some grease a friend of his
Used to cook up thin as air
But I said we’d keep some noise
Let the world know where we are
So any moose that’s on the crossing
Won’t get surprised by the handcar
You need a little racket
Just to settle in the groove
Every honest rhythm
Helps a body to move
Emily’s mother wanted in
Said she wished she could attend
But her body won’t cooperate
Her knees and patience won’t bend
All she asked was for a pretty stone
From somewhere down the line
But she was hard on Emily growing up
So that choice is hers, not mine
I don’t carry bitterness
I don’t carry much at all
Just what fits upon a handcar
And a faith that when things fall
When the bolts give out and scatter
When the handle bends or breaks
That’s when we’ll know the traveling’s done
And it’s time to stay
We’ll ride it till it tells us
It has nothing left to give
When the handcar comes apart
That’s how we’ll know where to live
Till then we’ll pump and listen
To the sound we choose to make
Rolling through small places
In Canada, along the rails
Past places like
Upsala
or McAdam
A moose by the tracks
a fox cutting across
geese lifting off when they hear us coming
Just rails, trees, and small towns
while we keep pumping
till it’s time to stop
