Edaville Railroad

In Short

This book serves as both a descriptive guide and a nostalgic historical account of the Edaville Railroad. Located in South Carver, Massachusetts, the Edaville is a unique "resurrection" of the two-foot gauge trains that once operated in Maine. Through a blend of personal observation and technical history, the narrative documents how entrepreneur Ellis D. Atwood saved these iconic midget engines and cars from the scrap heap, repurposing them to haul tourists and serve the needs of his massive cranberry operation. It is a heartfelt tribute to an era of railroading that had all but vanished by the 1940s.

The Story

The narrative begins with a candid introduction to the world of two-foot gauge railroads—or "midgets," as they were affectionately known. These small-scale lines, once vital to the social and economic fabric of Maine, were eventually defeated not by their unique gauge, but by the changing times and the rise of the automobile. As the 1930s drew to a close, these lines—including the Sandy River & Rangeley Lakes and the Bridgton & Saco River—limped into the sunset, leaving behind only memories and a few scattered relics.

The story shifts from the tragedy of abandonment to the triumph of preservation in South Carver, Massachusetts. Here, Ellis D. Atwood, a successful cranberry grower, envisions a second life for these machines. Rather than creating a static museum, Atwood builds a functioning, eighteen-hundred-acre railroad system. He rescues the physical remnants—the locomotives, the parlor cars, and the freight equipment—and brings them to his plantation. These machines are not merely displayed; they are restored to working order, puffing through cranberry bogs and pine forests, effectively bridging the gap between the industrial history of the past and the recreational needs of the present.

The account follows a tour of the Edaville, moving from the screenhouse—where the berries are processed—to the yards, where the “homuncular” engines wait to depart. The reader is taken on a journey across the plantation, winding through bogs and past reservoirs, witnessing how the railroad serves as both a functional utility for cranberry cultivation and a "Mecca" for rail enthusiasts.

The narrative concludes by detailing the immense effort required to save these machines. The author recounts the bureaucratic hurdles and the wartime restrictions that threatened to consign the equipment to the government’s scrap drives. Through the persistence of dedicated individuals and the eventual support of the government, the pieces were saved and transported—often by truck—to their new home. By the end, the Edaville stands as the "last survivor" of the two-foot gauge era, a testament to the idea that history can be preserved through utility and passion rather than just cold, cataloged display.

How It Unfolds

The demise of the midgets The narrative establishes the context of the Maine two-foot gauge lines, explaining their initial importance and their eventual decline during the 1930s. It clarifies that their narrow track was not the cause of their failure, but rather a lack of ridership that claimed even standard-gauge railroads.

The vision of the plantation The focus shifts to South Carver, where the reader is introduced to the Edaville Railroad as an "ideal risen from the ashes of Yesterday." This section describes how the railroad integrates seamlessly into the operations of a massive, modern cranberry farm.

A tour of the rails The author leads a guided tour through the Edaville yard and along the tracks, describing the passenger cars, the parlor car "Rangeley," and the distinct personalities of the engines. This provides a sensory look at the sights, sounds, and technical nuances of the operation.

The logistics of salvage The narrative details the desperate fight to keep the equipment out of the hands of junkmen and government scrap committees. It recounts the various fans and owners who saved pieces before they were lost, culminating in Atwood’s successful consolidation of the fleet.

The technical legacy The final portion provides an appendix of rosters and historical summaries of the precursor lines, such as the Wiscasset, Waterville & Farmington and the Bridgton & Saco River. It serves as a reference for the "railroad-minded" reader seeking to understand the lineage of the Edaville's equipment.

The People

The book centers on two primary figures whose lives are defined by their connection to these small trains. Ellis D. Atwood is the driving force of the Edaville. He is depicted as a man of immense industry—managing the world's largest cranberry plantation while simultaneously acting as the curator of a vanishing transportation era. He is practical and determined, willing to "pay through the nose" to save historical equipment from being cut up for scrap. He does not just collect; he restores and repurposes, ensuring that the past remains functional.

The author, Linwood W. Moody, acts as the reader's guide and the emotional voice of the book. As someone who grew up watching the Maine lines in their prime, his perspective is one of personal nostalgia. He shares his own memories of riding these trains as a child, providing a bridge for the reader between the historical "moldy lore" of the nineteenth century and the reality of the Edaville today. He is an enthusiast, sometimes prone to digressions about his own experiences, who views the preservation of the two-foot gauge not just as a mechanical achievement, but as the saving of a "democratic" and "hail-fellow-well-met" piece of American culture.

In Its Own Voice

The ten two-footers in Maine boasted about 212 miles of line; they were built and run like the big railroads.

The author emphasizes that these narrow-gauge lines were not toys, but fully regulated, essential parts of the transportation network.

They limped into the sunset because people didn’t use them any more.

The author identifies the harsh reality of why the narrow-gauge railroads disappeared during the 1930s.

No, the train didn’t mash him; we hoped it would, but he was too smart.

The author recounts a colorful, humorous struggle with a territorial rooster near a crossing on the plantation.

What It's Really About

At its heart, this book is an argument for the intrinsic value of historical preservation through function. It asks whether history is best served in a sterile museum or through a "resurrection" that allows the past to remain active and breathing. The author suggests that the Edaville is meaningful because it is not a "synthetical reproduction" but a continuation of the original machines' lives. It touches upon the tension between the march of industrial standardization and the affection humans hold for "colorful", idiosyncratic technologies. Ultimately, it explores the idea that what we choose to save—and how we choose to save it—reveals as much about our current values as it does about the objects themselves.

Why Read It Today

Readers who find joy in the intersection of mechanical history and regional American culture will find much to admire here. It is an honest, unvarnished look at a specific moment in the mid-1940s, capturing the enthusiasm of the post-war era alongside the technical details of a vanishing industry.

The book is characterized by a warm, conversational tone that feels like a long, rambling tour with a knowledgeable friend. It does not shy away from the author’s own biases, his sharp opinions on junkmen, or his occasional digressions into the technical minutiae of steam pressure and brake systems.

Modern readers should be prepared for the author’s period-specific language and his occasional, off-hand remarks about the people he encounters, which reflect the social norms of 1947. The book is not a sleek, modern history; it is a "travel-guide pamphlet" that holds the authentic, sometimes gritty, and always passionate voice of someone who truly loved the little trains. You will walk away with a vivid sense of the "sand and bright blue sky" of the cranberry bogs and a newfound appreciation for the people who believe that a piece of history is worth the effort of moving it across state lines just to hear it whistle one more time.