The glory days of the Post Office

    Greetings from the Ridge.
    I can remember as a youngster running in to get the mail and hearing the peep-peep of baby chickens in the back room. An indulgent postmaster would let me go back to look at the chicks peeking their little beaks out of the round holes in the shipment box. I recently read where it was only last year when some legislative body made it illegal to ship children through the mail. I’m not kidding. This would have been a blow to my mother, who was constantly threatening to ship my brother and I off to Siberia. For years I thought Siberia was full of Midwest farm kids who didn’t make their beds.
    I miss the post office. I know it’s still there and once a day I make my trek up to get the third class fliers and a few assorted bills, but I truly miss the good old days of just a year or two ago. It’s no secret that electronic communication has all but killed off the U.S. Mail, and one by one services are being dropped, hours shortened, as the town gathering place that was once the post office has now been relegated to the days of washboards and crank phones.

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