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.

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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.