For some people, the aroma of Christmas is freshly baked cookies or a newly cut pine.

For me, it’s the oily burn of my 71-year-old Lionel sparking across equally ancient tracks.

The train is one of the earliest memories I have of Christmas. I recall it on the white-sheeted platform in my grandparents’ living room, under the tree with the tinsel icicles.

It just doesn’t feel like Christmas until the train gets rolling. It’s how I keep my grandfather’s memory alive.

He bought the train for my mother as a Christmas present when she was 2. While it was hers, I have always associated it with him.

I was 4 when my grandfather died. The train, a 1950 O-27 gauge, moved to our house.

My dad would set it up under our tree. Just a short oval track, nothing fancy.

The two yellow Union Pacific engines — towing a Lehigh Valley coal hopper, Sunoco tanker, cattle car, flat car and, of course, a red caboose — zipped around the manger and a few Plasticville buildings that never seemed to stay together very long.

That’s probably because the train set was used as a toy by me and my brother. We’d build a city around it with our Matchbox and Lego cars, pulling our fire engines in and out of the Plasticville fire station.

I don’t recall when, but eventually the train stopped being a regular part of our Christmas. It stayed boxed up in the basement. Maybe it had stopped working. More likely, it was because the platform was too big and we needed the room to host Christmas dinner.

I never forgot about it.

After I graduated from college and moved into an apartment, I asked to have it. I took the engine and the transformer to a hobby shop for a tuneup, and the Lionel ran like it was 1950 again.

My soon-to-be wife and I started a new tradition.

We bought a ceramic building every year, with the goal of creating a Christmas train village. Cars, horse-drawn sleighs and figures were added. So were trees, mailboxes, street lamps, fire hydrants and everything else you’d see in a small town.

My favorite is a figure of a boy hawking newspapers.

The tradition continued when we moved to North Carolina. We expanded the plywood platform as our village grew. Needing more space, we moved it from beneath the tree to atop the pool table in another room.

When I joined The Morning Call and returned to Pennsylvania, I had a new incentive to put up the train — our young son loved trains.

Our village was built out, so we started buying a new train car every year. He got to choose.

As our son grew out of his train phase, and as our lives got busier with our second son, the train stayed packed away many Christmases.

Assembling the platform, leveling the track, stringing the wires and getting everything just right can take six to eight hours. With everything else that needed to be done for the holidays, it became a low priority.

I pulled it out again last year, for the first time in awhile. I needed a pick-me-up during COVID. Getting the Lionel running again was great therapy.

I put it up for my mother as much as for me. She enjoys seeing it because it brings back memories of her father and childhood Christmases.

When I told her I was writing a column about the cherished train, she dug out black-and-white photos and sent them to me. They show her with the train, and my grandparents.

I don’t have many photos of my grandfather, Joseph Farrell, otherwise known as Butch.

He served in the Army during World War II in the South Pacific, worked in a steel mill and later tended bar. He also was the sports director at the local Croatian club.

So these pictures were an early Christmas gift.

My grandmother died about five years ago at age 89. It was nice to see photos of her when she was younger.

My mom didn’t travel to our house for Christmas last year because of the pandemic. Instead of packing up the train, I left it up so it would be ready when she and my father come to see us this Christmas. It’s on the pool table in the basement, so it’s not in the way.

The Lionel is showing its age. The original cars don’t all couple well. That’s fine, because the engine no longer has enough steam to pull them all across the old track, anyway.

I’m just thankful the Lionel still runs.

The engine took a terrible tumble 15 years ago. It fell off the table while rounding a curve and the frame cracked when it hit the floor.

Blame the engineer. After all these years, I should have known better.

I was rescued by Hal of Hal’s Appliance & Train Shop in Wilson. He had serviced the engine for me several times, and he patched it together.

I would have been heartbroken if that had been the end of the Lionel.

I don’t get sentimentally attached to many things. The train is an exception.

I hope my sons are interested in keeping the tradition alive. I’d love to visit one of their homes one day and see the old gal sparking along, and breathe in the smell of Christmas.

Morning Call columnist Paul Muschick can be reached at 610-820-6582 or paul.muschick@mcall.com