In the little hamlet of Lower Salem, just a few miles from our home, is an elementary school, high on a hill overlooking PawPaw Creek and a small dairy farm.
My kids attended Lower Salem Elementary, and I will be forever grateful for the wonderful teachers who graced their lives in this one-class-per-grade rural gradeschool.
Science Club, after school, organized by Mrs. Hendrix. I helped sometimes. Binoculars and scope courtesy us.
It is the kind of school where a boy can show up in Crocs and a cape, every day, and get away with it through fifth grade. Because to his teachers and classmates, he is a superhero, even if we aren't so sure what his superpowers are yet.
And this lovely teacher, Mrs. Hendrix, saw what was so special about Liam and nurtured that. I know he is who he is today because she cared so much and believed in him, and gave him wings (and let him wear a cape).
For me, this is the quintessential photo, that summons the place up in memory. I'm brought right back to when they were little and we entrusted them completely to this place, these people.
Liam, at the time this photo was taken, was in kindergarten, and having some issues with germs. He didn't want to touch the bench. Or anything. So he's got his little mitts all curled up and he's scowling, while Phoebe is being Perfectly Fine Despite All That. You can hear me tell a story about germs and those adorable kids at this link to NPR. Do listen, if the player works for you; the written transcript loses a lot in translation. But come back! You have to see more of our little village.
Lower Salem also has a barber shop that is open sometimes. Fridays, 3-7, and Saturdays, 9-1pm. The little pole sign turns then.
We peeked in the window.
On the bulletin board, there's an ad for stump removal. The pink sign advertises Gracie's Grooming Salon, and the white one on the right says
WANTED
PLACES TO TRAP BEAVER.
They would probably notice if I snuck in there on a Friday or Saturday and tore that sign down, so I won't. But I would sure like to.
Nobody was home when we were snooping, but we thought there had been a cat around.
Yes, we're sure. We could see some cats on the hill across the road. But we knew better than to chase them.
In Lower Salem is a post office. It's the brick building on the right. We'd never been inside it until the Whipple Post Office closed. Small rural post offices all over Ohio are closing, closing, closing, and we are much poorer for it, for they might be the only social gathering places in some rural areas. There is value to that that goes well beyond convenience.
I depend heavily on my local post office and postal carriers for much of my livelihood, which involves sending books, notecards, puzzles, art prints, CD's and plant parts (to name just a few things) to people far and near. These people send me money, and then I turn around and send their money to dentists and Bowdoin College.
If I want to send something by any non-governmental carrier, I have to drive 18 miles to drop it off. This quickly becomes a problem. So I was crushed when, after having been cut to a four-hour office, the landlord refused to renew the lease on the tiny brown shed that was the Whipple Post Office, and it was suddenly no more. It was a dark, dark day in Whipple when that happened. There's nothing in the building now. Whaa?
What to do? I turned my eyes toward Lower Salem, only about 8 miles away. That's it, white roofs gleaming through the sycamores along PawPaw Creek.
I loved having an excuse to go back. Since the kids have grown up, I haven't gotten over there much. Turkey vultures stayed there almost all winter this year, roosting in the trees on the high bluffs behind the village. I took that as a good omen, turkey vultures being (one of) my spirit guides.
If I took the right route, I could visit Nostrils and the Minidonks on the way!
Nostrils is the cutest horsie in the land, especially when she's got a fresh haircut.
This photo was taken in early April from the front stoop of the little white Methodist church on the hill. The post office/bank complex is the brick buildling to the left, and I think the beautiful Gothic brick is the old school, now a community hall. The elementary school is just out of the picture to the right. But that's most of Lower Salem in this photo.
I will be honest. I was a bit trepidacious
about bringing my business to a new post office. Because I inevitably wind up asking more of postal employees than your average bear. What I mail can be big, bulky, and sometimes heavy. I knew that the success, or at least the pleasant execution, of my next big mailings--and I had a feeling they were going to be really big--depended upon whom I found behind the counter.
On my first visit, I took a deep breath, opened the door and let little Chet Baker take the lead. I figured I might as well just be me and let the chips fall where they may. And me = Zick + Chet Baker. We're a package deal. If the person behind the counter liked dogs even a little bit, everything would be fine. I hoped they liked dogs.
He trotted briskly into the foyer, stood up and tried to see over the counter.
And what he saw was Miss Cynni. Who let out a squeal of delight and dove for her treat drawer.
It turns out that Miss Cynni is the kind of person who likes dogs. Probably more than anyone I know.
Everything was going to be fine.
Saturday, April 16, 2016
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