AMERICANA FURLOUGH …AT ITS BEST: Traveling deputation as a missionary has many rewards. One for me was a visit to my Mom’s farm in Houston TN bordering Indian Creek, near Beckham Hollow. While visiting, I had written our monthly prayer letter to our churches and friends. When I asked Mom where the nearest Post Office was, she said, “I’ll show you.” After a 15 minute drive through the woods and over and through pristine ‘creeks’, we arrived at a very small gas station/store. I searched until I found a rusty P O sign, circa 1950, hanging above a familiar Blue mailbox.
I felt I was in a time warp as I stepped out of the car. Nothing had changed since I was a very small girl. As I entered the store, the five local residents rocking in their string bottomed chairs stopped their visit long enough to look me up and down. Recognizing I was an obvious stranger, one spoke “Howdy, can we hep you?”
I inquired about buying stamps but was told it was the postman’s day off. “I can stamp yer letters if you’ll just give me the money” the owner informed me. I told him I needed 200 stamps.
With much effort and groaning, he rose from his chair and told me to follow him as he limped off. I noticed he had on new ‘Dickie’ overalls with a very worn flannel shirt. At the far back right side of the store, he entered a small room dubbed Post Office and opened the safe and got the stamps. Even he was surprised that they had that many.
I was relieved to spy the Visa, Master Card, and American Express signs on the PO walls. I pulled out my card to pay the $68.00. Big Mistake. I learned the signs were for decoration—and they did not take cards. So I proceeded to pull out my check book, but was interrupted with “I can’t take yer check since I don’t know ye.”
“But I was born about 10 miles from here,” I protested. I told him the names of 4-5 relatives—not really sure if that would help or hurt. I even showed him my Passport, my drivers license, and a prayer card and told him I was a Baptist Missionary. He said the Baptist didn’t do nothing since he had married a Baptist PK and she was ‘ornery’.
He took my check at the store but not at the P O. I slowly followed him to the front of the store where he cashed the check in his own cash drawer.
I was suddenly jerked back to the 21st Century when my Mom appeared in the front door with my ringing cell phone.
I chuckled as I exited the store and heard one of the cane bottom chair ladies call after me: “If that phone works in these hills, it’ll be the only one. Ye have to go up on the mountain to get calls.”
Sure enough…the phone was silent…we were out of range.
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