There are a lot of things in this picture that I like: the long row of one-of-a-kind mail boxes, the casual construction of the shelf — braces added as required, the classy 55 gallon drum on the end for packages, the lazy lean of the shelf, and the overall charm of the scene. This is ranch country somewhere in southwestern Colorado.
It brings back fond memories of my grandparent’s farm in western Nebraska. The row of mailboxes was on the main highway heading south out of town. The farm house set back about 2-3 blocks from the highway, just far enough to avoid the road noise from the one car that came by every 2-3 hours. But, at my age, it seemed like a day’s hike to the get the mail. It was an adventure to get the mail for grandma; I felt like she was trusting me with very important business.
I remember that all of the mailboxes were identical and none of them had names or numbers on them. By the time I reached that paved treacherous state highway and safely reached the other side where the mailboxes stood, I had forgotten what grandma said about which box was theirs … 3rd from the right?, 4th from the left? … aaagh! Now what?!
Before I wet my pants with panic of having failed on my first important family mission, my older sister calmly opened the correct box on her first attempt and gathered the mail. She was kind enough to let me carry back half of the mail and never let on that I couldn’t have done it alone. Grandma gave me a big hug and made me feel proud of my accomplishment, although I didn’t deserve it.
Thought for the Day: Teach children to be polite and courteous in the home, and, when he grows up, he will never be able to edge his car onto a freeway. Unknown