The Mailboxes of My Memory
After a series of snowfalls, when the town plow took out the mailbox for a second or third time, we had had it. A friend of my Mom's engineered a piece of genius: a super-jumbo mailbox that set on a sliding rail that in wintertime could ride forward over the snowbank to easily meet the reach of the mail truck. We could slide the mailbox back from the road during snowstorms to keep it from getting whacked. It also held a lot of mail order packages.
That was my favorite mailbox—but it also was a favorite of yellow jackets during springs and summers. Each year I had to spray it with insect killer to eradicate a growing hive. (Aside, we always hear about letter carriers and dog bites—but how many bee stings do letter carriers endure?) I also remember the hearty hostas perennials that would grow so fervently around the base of the mailbox—and to this day, hostas are my go-to ground cover in any area beset by sand and road salt leftovers from the winter.
In Ogallala, NE, we actually had a "city style" single-residence black mailbox with a top lid and two parallel curling hooks underneath for flyers and my Boys Life magazine (my first piece of regular mail, that I can recall), attached to the house by the front door. I had my first pen pal then, too—a school principal I corresponded with from Melfort, Saskatchewan. Nothing unusual in this mailbox setup—until my big sister (well, allegedly, one of her friends) was found to be hiding a stash of 70's illicit paraphernalia inside a corner of it. Talk about special delivery! I wonder if she shared any of it with the postman.
Then I go back to childhood—in Williamstown, MA. There we had a roadside mailbox, where one of my daily chores was to check for mail (we didn't always get mail) and to put outgoing letters in the box with the flag up. It was the 1960s. I remember Mr. ZIP ads on television, his likeness on the sides of the mail truck, and the occasional special letters written to me from Grandma and Grandpa that always were addressed (until age 12) as "Master Chester Goodale Dalzell II"—no mistaking that for a note sent to my Dad (also named Chet).