One of my recent blog posts was framed by the joys of reading a
delightful Christmas story called Christmas
at Eagle Pond by Donald Hall. I continue to be impressed by one small detail from the book:
that his grandmother, every day, wrote on the back of a penny postcard to each
of her three daughters (including Hall’s mother)—and they, in turn, wrote back
to her their own daily postcards. Imagine: a few lines scrawled on the back of a
card with brief news or observations about one’s day.
I have saved all of the
cards and letters my maternal grandmother, paternal grandfather—and many other friends and family—have written to me through the years. They are treasures but few are as concise as a
postcard. A stack of memories like that is so much better and more tangible
than a silly “tweet” on Twitter or even a random Facebook musing. I imagine
they are more comparable to the few lines a day that my great-grandmother kept
in her voluminous daily dairies or what I write in my few-line-a-day 10-year
journal (a gift to myself a few years ago): “
Quiet day on the ridge. Our cattle are well-fed thanks to the boys, in
Temple’s absence. Put up the last of the applesauce. Needed rain is coming.”
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| This is the verso of the above New Year's postcard. I love that it is also to a woman named Addie as that is my daughter's name and she, too, is far away. Ironically, "Miss Addie Marel" was a resident of Gallupville in Schoharie County, in upstate New York. That is a very special part of the world and home to two dear photographer friends. |
Of course, to mail one postcard today is the cost of a
month’s worth back in the 1940s and with unlimited minutes on phone plans and
email, sending any handwritten correspondence has become a lost art. Notes and
written greetings have gone the way of the telegram (my
parents received several when I was born in 1962 and I’ve only ever seen one in
my baby book).
In recent months I have actually written more cards, letters
and postcards than I have in the past fifteen years (ok, a few I
have typed—or, rather, word-processed). Call it an email backlash (I will never
Tweet, I can assure you, even if a future publisher might beg me to do so) or
blame it on our lightning strike back in early August which limits my Internet
use to a few WiFi hours a week in nearby Somerset (ironically, DSL
is all set to go in on our ridge after years of pleading—but I’m actually
considering not getting it!). My Old Order Mennonite friends, who rarely have
phones and certainly no Internet access, like to send around “Round Robin”
letters—a delightfully archaic act and something that seems more like an
enjoyable chat among many on a Facebook wall in lieu of actual conversation.
The difference is that it is handwritten and slower in its arrival.
After years of writing emails—some that should not have been
sent, I admit, but rather said in person or a more considered letter (and one
problem is that I type as fast as I think which either can be dangerous or
long-winded or both: 100wpm is either a gift or a curse, depending on the
situation)—I am going back to my postal roots. In the last few months I have
found many stashes of stationery, note cards, postcards, and even unused
Christmas cards in a massive post-move (even if it was four years ago) box
cleanup. I have even found many well intentioned and numerous stamp purchases
that had been tucked away. So, like everything in our pantries and freezers
(and even present stashes I’ve been finding—this is the first year in forever
that I’ve actually bought less than five items at Christmas for my entire list
of people—you see, hoarding can have its advantages if you are at least
semi-organized), I’m
using them all up. It might take me a decade but I’m determined to contribute
to the struggling U.S. Postal Service along the way—perhaps even to brighten
the days of my friends and family, on occasion, too.
I still don’t have a “SmartPhone” (just a track phone that I
take, begrudgingly, on the occasional extended trip or solo overnight) and I don’t
even want one. The computer—with its limited weekly hours of Internet on my (already
ancient) Mac PowerBook—is sufficient. Facebook is fun and occasional and I do
like being part of a wider network there (but am no longer addicted or
afflicted with it). Blogging is something I miss—although I have not figured
out how to be concise in this medium, I admit, after almost eight years of
having blogs—but even that can be arranged with some finesse and photo
uploading. On occasion, it has seemed, I was living to blog (and to photograph
everything)—which isn’t always a good thing, either. I am even picking up the
phone more often despite a long and tempestuous relationship with this
intrusion.
So here is to a very and blessed New Year to you. I can promise
that mine will be filled with words and good books (with no domestic
distractions of the Internet, I’m actually reading much more these days, too) and
much writing in and amongst our days on the farm. After a very busy 2012
reconnecting with old friends and family in real time, I am ready for a quiet
few months on the ridge before our glorious Appalachian spring (and the
inherent ease of socializing that comes to me with brighter and longer days).
Like Persephone, I have learned to welcome both the inevitability and the
inward retreat of darkness and seclusion each year—I no longer fear it.
And I will still send out the odd peep or two to a mailbox
near you. If you’d like to receive a carte de post, just email your address to
info@CatherinePond.com. I promise to mail
you a note as a gesture of good cheer—just promise that you’ll do the same
thing for someone else.
You come back when you're ready!
Catherine
I'm celebrating National Pie Day this year with two healthy fruit smoothies and some homemade soup. My husband and I are doing the 21-day Digest Diet to get ourselves on track and to boost some needed weight loss. So no pie for the Ponds right now. I'm not ruling it out in the future but, well, let's just say that I like this "diet" because it clearly tells me what to prepare each day in an easy-to-follow format and I'm too busy right now to worry about meals. If someone is telling me what to prepare, and it is easy to do (sort of like spa cuisine), that's half the battle. If we can get through the more restrictive first four days, we can do anything. I'll let you know how it goes.
