AutumnFest

New Adventures in 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.

*  *  *

Jolene Edwards and her group are out early this morning. Only one more week left of summer and next Monday, half the kids in her entourage will be back in school. Two Radio Flyer red wagons trailed up the road. Three small kids were in each and several larger ones took turns pulling. Two cocker spaniels trotted in the rear, their little trimmed tails wagging like bobble-heads on a rough road.

 They had all been to the snow cone stand. I didn’t know it opened at nine o’clock, but clearly it must since every one of them had colored faces, colored tongues, and colored shirts. Even the dogs looked as if they had shared in the treat. Today must also be swim day, as I can’t imagine her getting all that color off them any other way. Jolene keeps kids. She is the champ, in my opinion. They go everywhere in those little wagons and when they aren’t snacking, they are singing. She also has them picking up trash in the park, collecting cans for recycling, and entertaining the old folks at the retirement center. One of the little Kosch twins can already sing The Star Spangled Banner and she is only five. Mostly I hear songs from the latest Disney movie whenever they pass by and Jolene is singing just as loudly as all of them.

Jolene is a survivor - breast cancer. After chemotherapy, surgery and another round of chemotherapy, the two hundred and fifty pound woman lost a hundred pounds and gained a respect for life that she didn’t have earlier. She also started keeping kids and teaching them the same joy of living that she feels.

One day they were all holding balloons as they walked down the road to an empty field. I watched and was close enough to hear her praise Kimmy Johns for deciding to give up her pacifier. Jolene tied the pacifier to one of the balloons, bundled them all together and let Kimmy turn them loose. The little girl was saying goodbye to a friend, but she was surrounded by even more friends who clapped enthusiastically as the balloons floated in the sky.

Jolene Edwards is a pleasure to be around, a woman who has a smile on her face, no matter how dirty those kids are, and a contagious hearty laugh. Her husband isn’t quite as outgoing. Her diet didn’t affect Bill for he still weighs a hefty amount. Every time I see him, I vow to forego dessert for dinner and walk an extra mile. He is one large man, but he still works for the Highway Department and I pick up that hospital payment every month from their mailbox. It’s been five years since Jolene’s treatment and they are still faithfully paying their debt. Normally, I wouldn’t notice a customer’s outgoing mail, but Jolene writes a large number on the back of the hospital payment envelope in thick, black marker. I suspect it is the amount of payments she has left as the number seems to be getting less.

Rarely do I stop at the café for coffee when I deliver the mail, but today there isn’t much in my tray on the front seat beside me. I am way ahead of schedule and Jake’s car is parked in front of the small white building. I have a few questions about the stock market, and since he is not only the county sheriff, but also the local Dow guru, now seems like the perfect opportunity. As I walked through the door, I knew something wasn’t right. Edna’s face was red and a young woman I’ve never seen handed out menus.

“What’s up?” I asked Jake as I sat down at the counter beside him, noting his starched brown uniform was immaculate as usual.

“Brenda’s at college orientation for a few days so she sent her cousin. It seems as if her cousin has never been a waitress. Edna has to do it all and she’s not happy.”

Edna was busy. She helped the new girl take orders from eight oil field workers sitting at the back table, flitting around the table like a clucking hen. I reached behind the counter, got a cup and poured myself some coffee. The milk wasn’t in its usual spot so I went to the small refrigerator behind the bar, saw the small container and poured the milk into my cup. There wasn’t much, but just enough for me. It cooled the heat quickly and I drank nearly half of it in one gulp. I do love coffee.

Then I heard a baby in the back room. It started crying softly at first, but in a minute cranked it up until Edna cursed loudly. “Go feed that baby, for heaven’s sake!”

The young girl hurried toward the counter, jerked open the refrigerator and appeared upset. She looked around; saw the container by my coffee cup and tears started pouring down her cheek.

Jake and I looked at each other, not understanding any part of the situation, but clearly, I was the cause of her distress. Edna was suddenly beside us. She looked at the young girl, glanced at my coffee cup, shook her head and sighed as if we were all idiots. “Gina, get that baby, take it home, feed it and both of you take a nap. That little girl needs you worse than I do.”

Gina’s tears were drying but amidst the low sobs, I heard the accusation as she glared at me. “You drank my breast milk.”

I felt my mouth drop open just as I heard Jake snort to keep from laughing. Edna patted my back before ushering Gina and the car-seated infant out the door.

“Coffee’s on the house this morning, Buck,” she whispered as she returned to the back table full of hungry men. Her step was livelier and a big grin was on her face.

B and K project

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 spotted her half a mile away, half hidden by underbrush, but the distinct red and black pattern of her hide made me shake my head. The old goat never learned. Only one of Ben Hudson’s goats gets caught in the wire fence regularly. At least, she is the only one I see. The nanny has so many scars on her body, she is easy to recognize. And there is one place outside the fence line where wild grapes grow. Nanny loves these grapes so much, she forgets that her horns never fit back through the hogwire.

I stopped and she struggled to get up, but had twisted herself in so badly, I knew I’d have to cut her out. Because of Nanny, I carried wire cutters and leather gloves – for the last six or seven years, the old coot has been getting stuck in the same spot in the fence year after year – but only during grape season. The lady knew me and sat patiently on her haunches while I systematically snipped the strands. She even tried to nuzzle my neck while I bent over her shoulder - could be the new aftershave I wore or that Babe had gotten up early and fried bacon for breakfast. After I freed her, she remained stationary and I saw her eyeing the grapes behind me. It didn’t take but a minute to cut some vines laden with the fruit and toss them inside the fence. Almost in acknowledgment, she shook her head vigorously before walking over to a bare mesquite trunk and rubbing her neck against the rough bark. I reached for the spare wire wrapped around the fence post to patch the fence, but I didn’t twist it too tight. I’d be rescuing Nanny again when she got hungry for grapes. Luckily, the season only lasted a month.

Half a mile down the road, Melanie Anzt stood at her mailbox as I braked to a stop. I found myself sighing and shaking my head the same as I did when I saw Nanny stuck in the fence. The outfit was typical and I knew her husband was out of town. Melanie wore a negligee, pink fluffy slippers and looked as if she just woke up from a very long sleep. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen her like that and at no time did she try to hide any part of what that negligee didn’t cover. Melanie had a collection of them, all different colors, and I knew where they came from as she received several packages a week from Victoria’s Secret. Luckily the Anzt’s had a large mailbox and so far, all the boxes fit inside, leaving me without having to make a decision whether to take them to the house or leave a pink slip in the box.

“Mornin’ Buck. Would you like to come in for coffee? I can make breakfast if you are hungry.”

I truly believe there are times in my life when I’m put to the test. Melanie Anzt is one of those tests. She and I both know neither coffee nor breakfast is on her mind and if I ever stepped through that front door, her husband, Andy, would have every cause to use that rifle he carried in the back window of his vehicle. Andy traveled a lot, being a rodeo stockman, and Melanie stayed home. She didn’t have any kids to keep her occupied. She wasn’t the type to join the local quilting or gardening clubs and since she had no family in the area, I’m sure I was the only one she saw on days when Andy was gone.

I handed her the mail and smiled, not anxious to stick around. I kept thinking of Babe’s face as she handed me the plate of bacon and toast this morning, a bright smile on her face and a sleepy look in her eyes. She also got up early just to make me cinnamon rolls for breakfast occasionally.

 “Thanks, Melanie, but I’ve got mail to deliver. See you tomorrow.”

As I drove off, I shook my head. Would Nanny and Melanie ever be satisfied with what was on their side of the fence? I rearranged my shorts to get more comfortable after seeing a near-naked woman and thought my life would be easier if they would. Then I groaned, braked to a stop and honked my horn. I didn’t want Melanie to get too far. I sure didn’t want to have to walk up to her door and knock on it.

The small box lay just where I had put it this morning, right beside my water bottle. When the postmaster handed it to me, along with all the other parcels to log in on the sheet, he had a raised eyebrow, but no words, no jokes. The man was not the chatty kind and I often wondered if his life at home was just as dreary.

The batteries the manufacturer used must be top dollar as that little box had been vibrating up a storm ever since he handed it to me. The little fellow was still jumping up and down on the dash. I could only surmise the contents since the return address label was generic, but Melanie Antz was the intended recipient and I suspected my guess would be accurate.

When I handed Melanie the vibrating box, she first looked surprised, then got a sly grin on her face. She, too, raised her eyebrow, just like the postmaster and looked me square in the eyes. Another test. Too many for any man in one morning!

I shook my head even though she didn’t speak, put the car in gear and drove away, without glancing in the mirror. I could very well remember her image in that negligee without looking again. I did like the green lacy one better, though. Some things stick in your mind and don’t leave. Again, I rearranged my shorts, reached for the water bottle and took a long swig. After a moment, I poured the rest over my head. It was enough to dislodge the picture. I had a job to do… and goats to save… and cinnamon rolls to eat!

 

The Summer I Held the Chisel

Fifth Friday

Country Mailman edition

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.

*  *  *

Cecil Dean stood with worry on her face and I scratched my head at her predicament. She was in a fix but I sure didn’t like her solution. I put her mail and small package on the table just inside the bright red door.

“I can see where you can’t wring the necks of your chickens because of that cast on your wrist, Cecil, but I’ve never done it. Pretty sure I’d make a big mess of it.”

“I’ve got an axe if you think that would be better,” she offered.

Cecil was approaching eighty. She had never asked me to do anything except move a chair from one side of her living room to the other and that was years ago. Her boys usually see about her but I knew they were at the agriculture show this week. So were their families. The lady likes having chickens and fresh eggs. Few people do these days, a grocery store is more convenient. 

“You’re set on having chicken for dinner?” I asked.

“The preacher is coming, along with the new choir director. I make the best chicken and dumplings around. You know that, Buck.”

I nodded because to do anything else would be rude. Cecil didn’t know that I hated dumplings. I scratched my head again, remembering her sons had taken her car keys away and she couldn’t drive to town to buy chicken.

“How about I bring you some chicken from the store. If you can’t wring their necks, you can’t pluck the down either. I know store-bought isn’t as good, but at least all the feathers will be gone.”

“How are you going to do that? You have a whole route to deliver and won’t get back to town before mid-afternoon. They’re coming at five.”

“You let me worry about that. I’ll have your chicken to you by one o’clock.” I patted her hand, saw a reluctant nod and took the two letters she wanted mailed.

After a brief phone discussion with my wife, I arranged to meet her at the crossroads at twelve thirty, after she bought two packages of chicken at the store during her lunch hour. My wife has always been a sport, saving me more than once after a vehicle failure on the route.

After leaving Cecil’s place, I had three miles to travel before coming to another mailbox, so I sat back and enjoyed the view. The Hudson Ranch bordered one side of the road and occasionally I saw cattle scattered through the bushes. I wasn’t traveling fast on the dirt road, but when I saw the strange brown color, I stomped the brake and swerved a bit before stopping. Thirty seconds later, I had backed up and stared curiously at the large animals on the other side of the barbed wire.

The boys at the domino hall talked about them and I knew these creatures had been on Ben Hudson’s ranch for months, but this was the first time I laid eyes on them. There were three, all various sizes. The creatures stared at me just as I did them, only their mouths were moving, just as cows do while chewing. Ben brought the camel herd in from Kansas to keep the mesquite from taking over and although they had been there half a year, I didn’t notice any difference. He was supposed to have ten of the animals. The three I saw looked as calm and content as any cattle. The beasts were supposed to live about forty years so they had plenty of time to cut down the mesquite and scrub brush on the ranch. A water tank was close by; grass wasn’t too far, so they looked as if they were satisfied. I eyed the barbed wire fence. Judging from the length of the long legs, I doubted the enclosure would hold any of the big beasts if they wanted to be elsewhere. I couldn’t keep from staring. They were such an oddity. I knew camels were used experimentally in Texas before the civil war but not much else since then. There was probably a reason, but I sure wished Ben all the luck in this venture.

 When I got to Annie Oakley Grayson’s for coffee that afternoon, we talked about the camels and we talked about Cecil Dean as we ate German chocolate cake. Annie filled in the history that I didn't know.

 Cecil rode in a wagon across Texas with her parents when she was a baby. In the 1920’s, German immigrants settled in this part of the country and Cecil’s family slowly accumulated land. Cecil has enough money to hire all kinds of people to raise and harvest her chickens, but that German ethic of hard work is too instilled in her to allow that. She is the oldest of five girls and grew up walking behind mules plowing the fields. Her family also ran a dairy and she put her time in milking, separating and delivering. I suspect she’s done everything on a farm that can be done, including driving a hayrake drawn by horses, hoeing cotton, baling hay and repairing windmills.

I’ve walked in her kitchen with washing machine parts strewn everywhere and later discovered she put it all back together after replacing a broken drive belt. She showed her husband how to replace brake pads on the truck, change the oil and replace the filter. After he died, I suspect she instructed her sons the same way.

Cecil still had a frown on her face when I handed her the packages of chicken from the store. Age and injuries make a person accept second best, but since she was determined to make chicken and dumplings for the Lutheran preacher and his cohort, sometimes, below par just has to do. My wish is that they eat every drop so she doesn’t offer it to me tomorrow.