Country Mailman

Tune in every week to read about the adventures of Buck Buchanan, fictional country mailman, delivering mail out of Starz, Texas. He takes his job seriously and knows that customers count on him to deliver every piece of mail entitled to them. He is all about customer service. With a willing ear and a helping hand, Buck Buchanan goes the extra mile.

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The weatherman forecast wind for the day and hot weather for the rest of the week– a bit odd for September in West Texas. The nights should have cooled down, but even the summer had been unseasonably wet. I rode with the window down, the wind cooling my face a bit and glad there wasn’t dirt along with it.

There are a slew of parcels still in the back to be delivered and many of them are for Missy Reins on County Road 3140. She won’t be home, but doesn’t mind my putting them in the garage on the table. Once I made a mistake and left a parcel on the concrete floor of the garage without realizing water from the rain seeped in one door on one side, and ran through to the other side. When I left the box of books, the floor was dry. When she got home after a rain shower, the floor was wet and so were her books. But she was nice and just asked me to put the parcels on a table in the future.

As I headed up the driveway, I noticed the man on the roof installing decking for her new workroom. Missy has a lot of hobbies and converted all her bedrooms into work areas after her kids left home. The problem arose when her kids came home to visit and had to sleep on sofas and blow-up mattresses. At least, that’s what her husband thought as he waded through various arms and legs when he went from his bedroom to the kitchen in the morning for coffee.

All my information came from Missy’s sister, Atterbee, the day I delivered the box of wine. I hated to leave it on Atterbee’s porch in the heat so I took it to the CPA office where she works. It must have been a slow day and since it was my last delivery and a slow day for me as well, I just sat and listened to her family news. She sounded a bit envious that Missy was getting a woman-cave because her husband was sick of his four-bedroom house not having any beds.

The roofer worked alone and I watched him haul up a full sheet of decking, one side coated with aluminum for insulation. The sun caught the metal just right that it blinded me momentarily and I blinked quickly. Just as suddenly, the metal was gone along with the man. I blinked again, thinking I was still blinded, but the roof was in full view as well as the ladder. Only the man and his four-foot by eight-foot sheet of decking had disappeared.

I heard a loud noise, hurriedly put my car in park and rushed to the back of the house. The decking lay in a child’s circular swimming pool and violent splashing appeared from the sides. When I lifted one edge of the wooden sheet, thinking the worst, a head and arms flailed wildly. With the other hand, I reached down to grab a shirt and raised it firmly, hearing a loud gasping breath.

“Just stand up,” I yelled, trying to make the man understand through his panic, because clearly he was beside himself.

Suddenly, he shot up out of the three feet of water, stood and looked around in confusion. “I thought I was drowning!”

I nodded and realized the wind must have caught the decking, and blown them both off the roof. Landing in the pool probably saved him from serious injury even though he thought himself in mortal danger. He wasn’t injured from the fall, but I stayed a few minutes until he decided he’d leave for the day. Probably a good idea.

Two miles down the road as I gathered the Johnson’s mail to put in their box, I saw the For Sale sign in the yard. Their house sits back from the road a bit and always looks nice. Fred keeps the lawn mowed, the drive graveled, and the mailbox in good shape. The sign didn’t make sense to me since the Johnson’s have lived there way before I began delivering mail. They aren’t old enough to look for a retirement home and both appear healthy. I rarely deliver medical bills and that is a sure sign for middle-aged folks to move into town.

They still have their kids at home, although they aren’t kids any longer. Alma and Fred are foster parents to two special needs children, have been since they were babies. They've grown up now, but the boy and girl will never be able to live on their own. I watched them grow and every year my admiration for the Johnsons grew as well. They are a close family. I see it in the kid’s faces and in Alma and Fred’s pride.

When I saw Fred on the side of the house watering, I kept the envelopes and magazine and drove up the gravel. He waved and met me before I got out.

“I saw you outside and thought I would keep you from having to walk,” I said.

“I wondered. I’m not expecting a package. Guess you saw the For Sale sign.” Fred frowned and leaned against the car.

When I nodded, he continued as if he didn’t mind talking about it.

“The kids are getting too heavy for Alma and me to lift and when we tried to hire a home-health company, they told us we were too far from town. We’re moving to Lubbock.” He frowned again. “Hate to leave, but it’s best for the kids.”

I nodded and after another brief conversation, drove away with a heavy heart. They were doing what parents do – taking care of their children and although they are only classified as foster parents, they have to be at the top of the list of nurturers. I’d miss the Johnsons. They are good people.