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.

*  *  *

Normally, I appreciate the 4-wheel drive SUV I have, but this morning I wished I had a pickup. Only in an emergency or with a valid reason, can I divert from my regular line of travel and I wasn’t certain the two boxes in the back fit in either category. I inhaled deeply and kept on my appointed rounds. If I had a pickup, I could put them in the back and not have to listen to the incessant noise. Two hours and six antacid tablets later, I pulled to the side of the road and called the postmaster.

“I’m diverting from the route and delivering to Max Lewis on County Road 3800.” I paused after hearing his question. I could lie and give him a valid reason or I could tell the truth. I opted for the truth. If the man couldn’t understand, then we had bigger problems than those two boxes in the back. “The noise is driving me crazy.” 

There was only a grunt on the end of the line so I took that to mean he understood. Twenty minutes later I sighed with relief as I pulled into Max’s drive and headed to the barn. Both cars were gone. Alice worked at the bank and Max occasionally did custom farming so I suspected he was off plowing someone’s field. I didn't see any evidence of kids and then I remembered the late summer football practice and suspected his two boys were at the field with all the other hopefuls. Now what?

Both dogs eyed me. Neither one moved from their spot in the shade, but I knew the minute I opened my door, they would start barking. Rip, the big one, isn’t the problem. He's the bluffer, and since he stands waist tall, plays his part well. His bark is more like a braying mule than a country dog, but his gray eyes give him away as a softie. Of all the dogs on my mail route, Rip is the one I’d like to take home with me. But not the little one – he would bite me – and without warning. He is the hit-and-run guy, sneaky, slinking underneath the car to nip at a leg. Since I didn’t wear socks today, my ankles are prime targets.

The doors of the barn stood open so I drove in and looked for a place to leave the boxes. Then I spotted the cat. She looked big, lean and hungry. I could almost see her licking her chops in anticipation as every ear within half a mile could hear my backseat roar. So far, my plan bordered on failure. I didn’t see any spot where Max had planned for the contents of the boxes so the logical place was inside the house. Alice might shoot me, but there wasn’t any other safe location. I didn’t know the value of the contents in those boxes but Max didn’t order them just to have them disappear in a cat’s gullet.

After parking at the back door, I saw where Hit-and-Run squatted and boldly opened the car door. Both dogs started barking and sure enough, the little terrier began slinking toward the house. A water faucet and hose were close, so I hopped out, grabbed the nozzle, turned on the water and aimed it as the dog shot out from under the car - headed straight for my feet. The water stopped him. We eyed each other after he escaped and retreated to his spot underneath a shade tree. Rip no longer barked and he, too, remained in the shade. I would be safe until Hit-and-Run got bold again.

A few minutes later, I surveyed my project. The sheet of plastic I had in the back of the SUV now lay on the tile floor of Alice’s mudroom. It was relatively clean and would catch any soiled matter that escaped from the contents of the containers. On top sat Max’s mail, 350 two-day-old pheasant chicks, chirping like there was no tomorrow. Through the holes I could see tiny beaks, eyes, and fluff and all parts appeared active. The noise filled the little room so I knew the baby fowl wouldn’t be overlooked when Alice or Max came home. Lucky for me, their back door wasn’t locked. In ten days, the little chicks would grow wings and start flying. For now, at least, they wouldn’t get too hot or be eaten by that monster in the barn. I didn’t think there was another cat in the house, but I closed the door to the kitchen anyway. I stayed another moment by the back door to admire my work, satisfied that I had done my job in delivering the babies safely – all part of customer service.

I smiled slightly when the dogs sat up as I left the house. Two tails wagged and neither barked. Hit-and-Run didn’t act interested in my ankles so I bypassed the hose, got in the car and left, feeling pleased that all was well and there was blessed silence.

Sometimes I have to be inventive to deliver mail because often times mail is more than just an envelope. Most people who live in the country understand when the mailman enters their house uninvited. I only do it when there is no other alternative and I only do it when I know I would be welcome if they were home. After driving the route all these years, I know the difference. Usually, it’s the people who move from the cities to the country who don’t want strangers of any kind on their property. Not always.

Joe Bean isn’t from the city and he doesn’t want me anywhere near his place. He doesn’t want anyone and has No Trespassing signs staked along the fence. But Joe is crazy – even in school, he was a bit off. I liked Joe and on his good days, he couldn’t be beat, but as the years passed, his mind went a different route than most folks and I don’t see any more good days. Medication might help, but Joe isn’t the kind to acknowledge, nor accept that the strange creatures he sees are only in his head. His mutterings don’t bother me as I often talk to myself, however, since he has one eye that wanders, most people steer clear of the man. Probably best. Jake, the County Sheriff, had a hard time making Joe remove the shotgun from the back window of his truck, but since he couldn’t provide a permit, Joe finally put it under his seat. Jake might think the weapon is in Joe’s house but I parked next to him at the grocery store while Babe ran inside to get some milk, and saw the butt of the shotgun clearly visible when Joe opened his door.

It’s a sad situation. Until Joe does something stupid, Jake is in a tough spot. He can’t follow the guy around 24 hours a day, but he has looked into the new Texas law that allows officials to remove firearms from individuals with mental problems. Jake said he expects to get the okay any day now, and hopes it is soon as Joe Bean’s wandering eye and guns make him real nervous.

Joe lines his windows in aluminum foil and covers his baseball cap with it. The inside of his pickup reflects the silver sheen and I suspect he is Reynolds’ best customer. His front door is one big aluminum foil-coated monstrosity that can clearly be seen from the road because the reflection will blind a person when the sun is just right.

I understand aluminum foil is a heat reflector and can be used for cleaning lots of things, like silverware and pots and pans, but I doubt Joe has that in mind when he buys it by the carton. Luckily, he has a large mailbox. I haven’t had to deliver any parcels to his house yet. I’ve a good idea, I never will. There’s a reason for little pink slips that say there’s a package waiting for you at the Post Office and I believe in No Trespassing signs, especially when they are wrapped in foil.

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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!