I’m in Lee County, west of Chicago, and am summoned by the age-old allure of train tracks. My father-in-law, John Husar, a long-time outdoors columnist at the Trib, was enamored with them. Like many, he knew train schedules in the area. He could tell you when, where…and what-is-all-that-stuff anyway? He’d sit on a park bench near the tracks, beam a giant smile and light a cigar while giving you an impassioned history lesson about Chicago. Of course, this is what I’ve been told. He passed away before we could have this rite of passage. As I write this from the getaway location he frequented, I hear the echoes of train whistles in the distance and their gentle reminders of a region and a family. I photograph these lines at dusk, hoping to follow their pathways to understand my shared history.