The Train

There is, in our backyard, a piece of wood that is, for some inexplicable reason, a train.

It has been a train -- nay, the train -- for at least two years now, and I am unclear on how Margaret made this connection or why it has persisted.

But it is the train, and there is no getting around it.

The other night, Ellie decided that the train needed to move from the driveway down to the garage, where it usually lives, to the other part of the driveway.  So she moved it.

After this, Leo moved it back, which meant she had to do it again.  It's a hard life for an Ellie with definite ideas about train placement.