Series of 3

The 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.

*  *  *

I loaded the last of the parcels, shut the door and climbed into my seat, ready for the day. My two doughnuts from the bakery lay in a sack on the dash and my diet soda is in the drink holder. The heater is on low, warming my feet on the December morning and even though I see my breath as I exhale, I know I’ll be warm in a few minutes. There aren't any clouds in the sky and that means no bad weather. December in West Texas is usually nice. Brisk, but nice.

I have four new tires, a new alternator and a battery, and both front windows move up and down easily. I have a poker game Friday evening and all the kids are coming for dinner Saturday for my birthday. Babe plans a coconut cake and activities for all the little grandkids bursting with energy. I am rested and life is good.

But there was a time when I wondered if I ever would get enough sleep. Most men don’t understand young mothers when they long to lie down and go to sleep, yearn for the feeling of being sleep-satiated so their bodies will not be so tired. I understand fully.

I didn’t always work for the Post Office full-time. There was a long period that I only substituted, and since working for the Post Office meant security and retirement, I knew I had to pay my dues before working full-time. That also meant I needed a part-time job that wouldn’t interfere with my important part-time job. Babe and I had three kids to support.

I delivered newspapers seven days a week for eight years. For three months before officially hired as a full-time rural carrier, I substituted the mail route every day but Sunday. Getting up at four o’clock in the morning and getting home twelve hours later after driving two hundred miles delivering newspapers and mail, meant I was dog-tired. But kids need a dad and that included football games, basketball games, recitals, coaching duties and an assortment of all kinds of activities. On Sundays, Babe got the kids up, took them to town and they inserted and rolled papers just so I could get an extra hour of sleep. The laundry folks didn’t mind us using their building in the winter when it was cold and during the summer, the mail dock was plenty nice at four in the morning.

We did that as a family and I suspect that’s why my children realized at a very young age that a college education and a well-paying job would be a solution to their never having to get up early every morning to roll and throw newspapers. For several mornings when they were older, they even had to do the route themselves. I broke my foot in Santa Rosa, New Mexico and the kids took over for a few days. I wrenched my back after falling from a ladder and they came through again. They even surprised me on my birthday and did it one Sunday morning to give me a vacation. At the time, my early-morning job wasn’t meant as a lifetime lesson, but from all the college degrees coming from our kids, it certainly appears that it was.

I still remember how tired I was and every day when I wake up at six-thirty, I am grateful for having those extra hours of sleep. They aren’t quite as important now as they were twenty years ago, but I empathize with the mothers who long for a time when they can close their eyes and not wake to an infant demanding to be fed.

When the boxes shifted in the back as I rounded a corner, I roused from my reminiscing and thought quickly about the contents. Harvest Farms was my next delivery, so even if the worms overturned, I would get them out shortly. Three minutes later, I pulled into the gravel drive and headed for the large greenhouse. If Nadine wasn’t inside, I would put the boxes of worms and ladybugs on the counter. She orders them several times a year and once, I happened to arrive just as she released the colorful red and black bugs. It was quite a sight, a flurry of color before fading through the green plants. Ladybugs not only take care of the bad bugs inside a greenhouse, their larvae do as well, at least, that’s what Nadine says and she should know. She’s been selling greenhouse vegetable during the winter for years.

I’ve been to weddings where butterflies are released and one where doves were released, but as yet, none where ladybugs are set free. There must not be any significance in releasing a bug to mark the beginning of a lasting relationship, but in my opinion, they make the prettiest show.

I yelled as I opened the door, my usual announcement of arrival. There was no answer, so I deposited the containers on the corner where she would spot them right away. Nadine Adams wears little clothing in her greenhouse. We never discussed the reason, maybe because the temperature is hot or because she digs in dirt, but only once did I neglect to yell when I opened the greenhouse door. Since seeing her wear only granny panties and a see-through top, I have made a habit of yelling before entering her world.

Nadine didn’t seem embarrassed by my catching her in the brief attire and I’ve seen her dressed the same since, but she always wears a full-size apron so I figure that is her way of compromising an uncomfortable situation. I never stay long. A mailman’s job is to deliver the mail and I try very hard to adhere to that job description.

 

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.

*  *  *

I looked at the parking lot across the alley from the Post Office and noted the school buses were gone. They'd be on their way to the school to pick up the kids to take them home. November weather is just about perfect in West Texas... good for cotton picking...good for cotton ginning...and good for those Thursday and Friday evening football games.

Done for the day on the mail route, I got in my car, kept the windows down and pulled out onto the street to stop at the only stop sign in Starz, Texas. The sound came from my left, but the trees blocked my view. I waited, not taking my turn to move since there wasn't anyone behind me. I had to smile at the entourage that paused at the stop sign to my left. After waving them on, I drove slowly down the street toward the domino hall, my usual watering hole after a hard day of delivering mail. The sound disappeared and I wondered how long Jim Bob would be in town.

For those who don't know Jim Bob Nelson, they might think it odd that he drives down the street in a miniature car dressed like a clown. The oversized yellow hair, bulbous red nose and polka-dot overalls clearly mark him as an oddity, and traveling the few paved streets of the town indicate that he is someone who might need a keeper. The rest of us know he is going to school to pick up his eight-year old daughter. Jim Bob must be home from the rodeo circuit for a while. He started out as a bull rider but soon decided he'd rather be on the down side of the monsters instead of on top. Then he took it one step further. The four dogs riding in the small trailer behind the car are cow dogs, the ones he trains to herd calves back to the chute after the roping and bulldogging. Not only is he a savior to the bull riders, he and the dogs put on a show at the rodeos.

The man is in high demand so during the summer, the family travels in a motor home all across the country. I know because I hold their mail. But one week in the summer, they return...for Vacation Bible School. Matty Nelson is always assigned the three and four year olds. The church doesn't have a fence around the yard that borders the heaviest-trafficked road in Starz and the deacons only allow those kids to be in the yard if Jim Bob's herding dogs sit out by the street. Matty rarely has to motion for the cow dogs as they act on their own to keep the little ones herded on the grass. The dogs are well-practiced. Jim Bob has them herding ducks, chickens, pigs, goats, cows, but stops at the bulls. He has a heavy respect for horns. In the annual Labor Day parade, Jim Bob and his dogs herd a group of animals down the middle of town, usually goats. Although the geese are the most entertaining.

  Now that school is in full swing, Jim Bob is the only one who takes the motor home to the rodeos. Since he is picking up his little girl, he won't drop in at the domino hall today. He probably wouldn't anyway, dressed like that. There's a place for a clown, and although some act the part in the hall, the yellow yarn hair and polka dot overalls just don't fit.

I opened the door, acknowledged the group in the back huddled around the square table, and went to the refrigerator to get a diet soda. It’s a good place to unwind after a long day. Sometimes I play forty-two, but the table is full so I just plop in a chair behind Billy Linn and sweat the game. Billy Linn, one of the players, is a retired teacher and tight with his money. He might buy drinks for the refrigerator but only if shamed into it. He is entertaining, though, so that makes up for his penny-pinching. Chris, who sits opposite Billy Linn, only has one arm. We don't call him Hook or Lefty, or any nickname. I usually call him, sir. The guy weighs nearly three-hundred pounds. He rarely helps his son farm any longer because of knee issues but those don’t keep him from bowing up whenever his temper gets the best of him. I saw him toss a chair across the room like it was a stick when he and Greg Ames had a difference of opinion concerning his play of a particular domino. That chair is still lying against the wall, broken into bits. The twins, Kerry and Larry, sit in the other two seats. The two retired oilfield workers resemble each other. They rarely say much, but I know from delivering their mail that they invest in the stock market, just like Jake, the sheriff. They both receive Value Line, and as ignorant about money matters as I am, even I know it's the top-of-the-line source of stock information. They both have big houses, pretty wives, and two nice cars.

The man behind Kerry, sweating the game like me isn't so fortunate. He spent thirteen years in prison when he was a young man. Bubba shaves his head, has tattoos on body surfaces I don't even want to think about, and says piercings are for sissies. He keeps the cotton gin running and since he's here, the gin must be doing just fine. His Harley is the biggest made and even though Bubba isn't a stout man, he looks as if he can handle it well.

The domino hall is sparsely furnished, six square tables and a slew of chairs of various sizes. Many look to be cast-offs, well-used and worn, but everyone has his favorite. The farmers are scarce during ginning and planting season, but when rain drizzles, the room is buzzing. It isn't a place for women and only the brave wife dares poke her head in to summon her man. Since texting came into existence, a man's exit is usually prefaced with a brief glance at his cell phone. Babe, my wife, doesn't mind strolling through the door. She always seems comfortable in the company of men. As long as she doesn't go into the bathroom, all is well. The ceiling tiles in the back of the room have fallen on the floor, dead roaches are lying on their backs along the wall, and chalk dust from keeping score on the slate tables is an inch thick. It's a man's little bit of heaven.