Ethel
I found this in my files. It is dated 05/20/20. I must have been panicking about a certain presidential election.
My great-grandmother was the postmaster for a town that was a ridiculous distance from her little house on her homestead. It was probably not the best career choice, but it did allow her to have good stories about riding her pony and carrying her gun and shooting the occasional rattlesnake. That last bit sounds like nonsense, but I think it’s probably true.
I only knew her when she was old and frail and frankly a little scary, but I wouldn’t have messed with her. She might have had a pistol under her nursing home mattress. She called me Kenny, which is not my name, but it was the name of her son. That’s upsetting. It’s also reality.
The whole riding the pony to the town story has always been very important to my family. I understand that because it’s a good story. But she was sick and moved from Kansas to Montana because the doctors she saw for her respiratory problems said the “dry” environment of Montana would be better for her. I don’t know if that was true, but it’s a good story.
I…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Calamus Words to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.