It was in a long Manila envelope—a letter of six pages in a flowing penmanship on lined yellow tablet paper. Nostalgia hits hard when you find a handwritten letter in your mailbox—this one from one of my brothers.
He told about his week, about his plans to take a canoe trip next month down the Little Manistee River and about the his part time job at the newspaper office. I sat down on the front steps in the sunshine to finish this meal on paper.
I read about the beavers building a dam in the lake behind his house—how they swim through the rushes and cattails and slap their tails on the water’s surface. He wrote about his chickens chasing grasshoppers and about a bald eagle he’d spotted soaring over the hills.
I read about his boys and how they were coming along in school. The winter was coming on and he had taken down his kerosene lamps to clean them and fill them. And he’d taken out the box of quilts and blankets for cooler nights ahead.
He asked about my children—what each was up to lately—their schooling and hobbies. He asked about the pecan orchard—how it was coming—how big the trees were at present—how soon they would be producing.
The cursive letters pulled me through the pages. I read about the soup he’d made for supper. He told about an old china platter he had found at a garage sale. He wrote about visiting Mama and Dad and helping Dad harvest grapes and apples and how old he felt when he went home and spent time with the folks.
I made it to the end of the yellow lines and found his signature—Kent with a giant K and strung out letters. I sighed and folded the letter back into its envelope. What a soul feed it was! What a boost to the mental immune system! What a joy—a gift.
I sat a while digesting the words like a rich dessert. I watched butterflies as they worked over the roses on my pink bush. So much to write about. I retreated inside and found myself a pencil and a yellow tablet.
What’s Good About Home! 