Mist surrounds...
Oh, dear friends. One imagines magical journeys. To Tahiti. To the Caribbean. To Singapore. To the Himalayas.
Yet, truly, is it possible to take a magical journey to some place simple, some place accessible, some place close to home?
That is my question, constantly. How can we discover the magic in our backyard? In our front yard? In a simple trip to the mailbox?
Be still my heart...
Let us set the scene of this particular day first. The sky is gray. It’s always gray. It’s been gray since Christmas, I swear, although you could convince me otherwise if you try. (This is why solar energy will not work very well here in the Upper Peninsula.)
Freezing ice pellets spit upon the earth since last night, punctuated by snow showers. My husband scraped his car for ten minutes before work, digging off an eighth of an inch of ice. If one, heaven forbid, wears glasses…all one glimpses is wet and mist and fog and patterned droplets.
The Mind begins its usual litany: There’s nothing to see outside. You will find nothing to photograph. Don’t even bring the camera.
Silly mind! The silly mind didn’t anticipate the clothes dryer vent blowing steam out into the landscape, through the dried oregano plants. The silly mind didn’t anticipate frozen spruce branches.
Iced spruce branches
For those of you who dwell in rural lands, you know the importance of mailbox walks, don’t you? Before the days when email and Facebook and Twitter and blogging took over our lives, what did we do every day, rain or shine?
Walk with anticipation to the mailbox, our spirits hoping for that handwritten letter from family or friend! With hope we walked, our steps lilting, our steps wondering what treasures the mailbox might hold. We thought of the mailman like Santa, like a letter-guru. He or she had the power to give us…news from outside our rural homes, our houses along dirt roads, our habitations in woods and field.
Flag's up!
Today I lingered along the driveway, snapping 200 photos. Well, maybe thirty, to be more exact. Bragging back to the Know-it-all Mind: “Ha, ha! You were wrong once again! Look at this magical world!”
Upon reaching the mailbox I discovered letters already sitting patiently inside the box. That meant the mailman had already come and gone. Sigh. I placed the pile of to-be-mailed envelopes in the box, stuck up the flag, and started back toward the house.
When–suddenly–unexpectedly!–up the road flew the mailman in his jeep. He passed our house (since he had already stopped to deliver the mail) when he spotted the upturned flag. And he slowly, kindly, miraculously, backed up his jeep to pick up the late mail.
That’s what it means to live in the country. People still care enough to back up and get your mail.
Please meet our mailman.
What a magical journey! First, miracles of nature. Then, miracles of humanity.
On the way back to the house, humming softly, I paused by the heavily iced car to sketch a message for you blog readers:
**grin**
Hope you all experience magical journeys to your mailboxes, wherever they may be.
Lake Superior Spirit 
Years ago I visited my parents and witnessed my mom or dad going up the hill to their mailbox every morning. One morning I was in the kitchen when mom came back from the mailbox and she said with a sheepish only half kidding smile “Nothing from any of my kids today.” Ever after that, for years, each Saturday Bonnie (our dog at the time) and I sat down at the typewriter or later the keyboard and typed a letter to “grandma” early enough to make it out in the mail that day. During the week I’d actually keep a written list of things that had occurred or might be interesting to put into her letter.
After my parents died in 2004 I was going through papers in their desk. Everyone of my letters was rubber banded together in a pile in one of the drawers. I cried. I still do just thinking about it.
I think a handwritten (or typed) letter is the greatest gift, especially in these days of email.
Truly, that was the nicest thing you could ever have done for your mom. Real letters are precious.
Dawn, that is the most moving story. How wonderful that you did that for your mom. It was a precious gift indeed. I can almost imagine her walking to the mailbox and smiling every week to receive a precious typewritten letter. What a thoughtful daughter you were… Thank you for sharing that.
I can ballroom dance all the way to my mailbox. My driveway was finally plowed today! Before that I collected some fragrant pine boughs blown down by the storms. Oh they smell good right now, inside!
Oh Carla, fragrant pine boughs! I can almost smell them through the computer. (smile). Isn’t it great when the driveway finally gets plowed and we can maneuver through without wading through deep snow? I love those times. But never thought of it as “ballroom dancing” to the mailbox, LOL!
I’m beginning to think there’s something to the old saw about women in a dorm cycling together. Not the first time we’ve pondered the same matters at the same time . . . won’t be the last, thank goodness. It’s reassuring somehow!
I think it’s great, too, how those of us who blog together keep intersecting and meandering and coming up with similar topics. Sometimes it’s downright eerie how synchronistic it gets. I love it, too!
Dawn, your story brought a lump to my throat, too. Thanx for sharing it!
I call hand-written letters “fun mail” and had to explain to my husband the difference between “fun mail” and all other mail. I can tell all of you ladies here already knew the difference! 🙂
Enchanting photos, Kathy….and it’s always good to be reminded to find the magic in the little things of life!
Yep, the trip to the mailbox is lucky whens “fun mail” is hidden among those bills. Good thing fountainpen sent those cards…it’s time to send out some more “fun mail” around the country. Hope you have a good weekend, Cindy Lou. Stay warm.
haha, since last April I have taken my camera everywhere, just in case I see something that my readers might be interested in but I don’t see what you see. Fascinating. I must pay better attention and train my mind to recognize the extra ordinary in my day and my surroundings.
Iris, I don’t know if you know Amy at flandrumhill, but she had a scavenger hunt last summer and we took pictures to find certain items. I had this theory that everything could be found within a small square in the back yard…and it could! I find that fascinating because our mind says “no way”. We get too deadened by our environment sometimes to notice, I think.
@ Dawn – that was a lovely story.
I was grinning the whole time while reading this. I love how you think and observe!
Hey Christine, glad to make you grin! If we just open our eyes a little wider and expect treasures…the Universe seems to comply!
“Pray tell, what causes such enchantment?”
An open heart, a gentle spirit and a kind disposition 🙂
Ahhh, Amy-Lynn, the secret of Enchantment!! Now we know. 🙂
Nothing to add to the lovely comments here … just a check-in to tell you how joyous it is to have you here … little anchor woman … double entendre intended … feel so “centered” knowing I can visit you this way…
Love everything you’ve created, as always …
Hugs!
Oh good evening Susan D. I thought of you tonight while writing the Silent Blog and wish for you the centeredness of silence. Little anchor woman! Funny… I think we are all anchors for each other. That is what is so special. A silent hug to you this evening!
I’ve seen your mailman tooling around the roads of Aura… he reminds me of the mailman on the “Funny Farm” movie with Chevy Chase. Come to think of it, our mail lady reminds me of that movie too. How fun that he brought you such a nice surprise… aren’t bloggers generous in so may ways?
Ooops, I forgot to mention how much I loved that mystical photo produced by your dryer vent … How beautiful in the snow
Jane, you should have seen his face when I asked for his photo. I said “It’s for my blog.” Made me wonder if he knew about blogs. I always wave to your mail lady, too, on the way home from the school. I am in utter awe at the generosity of so many bloggers. What a wonderful blogging world this is…in so many ways. Glad you liked the Mystical Dryer Vent.