The house at the end of the road

I have probably referenced the post office in some disparaging terms over the last month. Two day packages taking two weeks, or even two Months.

When I was growing up we spent summers at our family cabin. In the woods, down a one-lane private road. We didn’t have indoor plumbing (well there was a kitchen sink, and a hose bib), a telephone, television or an address. It was heaven.

There were other cabins and houses, and it was a long time before addresses were assigned, and the road named. I recall stories of packages being delivered based on a basic description of how to get there and a family name.

Carl was looking at some old mail this morning and noticed this gem. This is from 1993, so not that long ago.

1/2 Block west of Roosevelt

I do understand the Post Office has been impacted by our terrorist in chief, as well as the pandemic. So, as my daughter pointed out a few days ago, I am just happy to know the packages arrived. And all that I have been tracking, have arrived.

It has been raining on and off for several days now. The weekend may provide a reprieve, before the next 3-day deluge. It seems our snow was so 2020, a distant memory. Of course, there is evidence left of the snowman.

Does anyone else use snowman building to rake their lawn?

2 Responses to “The house at the end of the road”

  1. Margaret Says:

    That’s amazing that the post card reached you, in SEATTLE. My step grandmother lives in Cle Elum and many non-addressed letters have gotten to her–but that’s a small town. 🙂 The constant rain has been dreary; the past few days have been OK though.

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