Edison W. Patissier never set out to be wealthy. A retired sign-painter and lifelong amateur photographer, he lived simply for decades, quietly capturing snapshots of everyday life: a woman stringing laundry across a back porch, kids chasing a dog down a gravel alley, sunlit barns sagging just right. He had a good eye and a generous heart—so when a college kid down the street asked for help with some new kind of “digital currency,” Edison handed over $200, mostly because the young man reminded him of himself at that age. “I’m not investing,” he said with a wink. “I’m encouraging.” He forgot about it for nearly fifteen years. One day, while sorting through a box of broken camera lenses and old tools, he came across a flash drive and a scrap of paper labeled: “Bitcoin stuff. Probably nothing.” It wasn’t nothing. That long-forgotten act of neighborly goodwill had blossomed into an unexpected fortune. But Edison didn’t move to a big house or buy a boat. He did something else entirely. He purchased several miles of scenic land—rolling, wooded, quiet—and began laying track. Not for commerce. Not for tourists. But for memory. Edison W. Patissier is building a railroad through time. A moving scrapbook. A journey not just across miles, but across moments. What will the railroad pass through someday? He doesn’t know for sure. Maybe a fishing dock like the one from his boyhood summers. A village square with cobblestone streets from a trip he once visited. A dusty western town, a Swiss hamlet, or a snowbound diner glowing warmly in the dark. Some ideas might stay sketches in his notebook forever. Others may come to life, plank by plank, brick by tiny brick. First up? A model of the home he and his wife Marla raised their family, where the porch light is always on and the people he misses most are gathered under the eaves. The railroad isn’t finished. It may never be. And that’s the point. As long as Edison has memories to honor, places to imagine, and wonder left in his heart—there will always be more track to lay.