Sometimes something that comes in the mail triggers memories. In this case, it was a letter from long-time friend Hazel Charles’ “snail mail.”
In late September I received a personal note from longtime friend, Hazel (Garber) Charles. Hazel, who was born close to my hometown, Elizabethtown, Pennsylvania. She still lives a few miles from there in Maytown, PA. Unlike me, she has not roamed far from home. And, she has remained Mennonite.
Card from friend Hazel, date stamp September 26, 2026
Hazel and I have corresponded for decades by mail. We have exchanged Christmas cards. Hers has always included a handwritten letter—news of her great-grandchildren’s births, her sewing projects (comforters for world relief), a list of her produce, canned or frozen, fresh from her garden. Recently, she has informed me of mutual friends who have died.
I value our long friendship. Although we have chosen different paths in life, our common history serves as the “tie that binds.” I sense she wants to keep in touch, and so do I.
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Hazel’s recent letter prompted me to search for a photo of us as infants, now sepia-toned, deckle-edged.
Hurrah: I found it stored in a cardboard box inside an ottoman! She and I are bookends in the photo above.
Left to right: Hazel (Garber) Charles; Kenny Aungst; Reba (Longenecker) Crill, a second cousin; and me, looking at the camera.
She is wearing a crocheted dress, which I admired even as a child. Mother made my dress on a sewing machine and hemmed it by hand, I’m sure. There’s a bit of fancy in the buttons down the front and the treatment on the neck and sleeves.
These days Hazel and I are corresponding oftener it seems. Yesterday I sent her (also via USPS mail) a re-print of a digital image of the photo above. She may have a copy of the original, but if she doesn’t, she’ll welcome it.
It strikes me now that Hazel and I share a history even longer than that of my sisters.
Melissa Kirsch of The News York Times reminds readers how unusual it is to get cards or letters in the mail these days. She says so in an article titled “Snail Mail.”
The accompanying illustration shows the connection the U. S. postal service makes possible.
Hazel, who can text on her phone but doesn’t do email, also informed me of the death of a friend, Gladys, who was baptized with us at Bossler Mennonite Church in September 1951. That news sent me down another trail: Imagining the plain, symmetrical interior of our church many years ago, getting baptized (water from a white basin sprinkled on our heads) after we had both turned ten.
Electric light fixtures still hang from the ceiling, now as then. However, as a small child, I remember 3 or 4 Victorian-style oil lamps mounted to the wall on each side of the sanctuary. I imagine they stayed attached there for a while, maybe as back-up if electricity failed.
Etsy image
The image here shows wood paneling, but the church interior was wallpapered in a textured, light beige tone, as I recall.
As I mused about Hazel and our church on Bossler Corner, other memories soon tumbled out.
Some cascaded into reminiscences of Mother Ruth and Father Ray.
Mother Ruth
Mother made all of our dresses until my sisters and I learned how to sew them ourselves.
I remember Mom having me try on a dress she was sewing for me, standing still and turning very slowly as she adjusted the length of the dress with pins. I hoped the pins she was holding to mark the hem wouldn’t jab my leg. Once or twice one did. Ouch!
When our clothes were dirty, she washed them with Ivory Flakes detergent, using Rinso Blue in the rinse water. It was common for housewives to put bluing in the tub of rinse water after the washing cycle. She probably stopped using that dye to brighten whites when she got an automatic washer after I left home. (Bluing could not have been eco-friendly).
Like in Cracker Jack’s boxes, this rinse product contained a treat inside. I don’t remember that Mom pulled a treat out of the box or know what she did with it if/when she found it. We didn’t have a TV back then and I doubt she or I would be interested in trading cards.
Father Ray
Often on a Saturday night, Daddy drove up to Dorsheimer’s News in Elizabethtown, PA—always on a Saturday night—and bought a LIFE magazine. Harry Dorsheimer owned the store, a fixture on the Square for decades. I don’t believe Daddy ever had a subscription to the magazine, one that would arrive in the weekly mail. Picking it up became a ritual for him though.
Before he looked at the magazine, he’d thumb through the pages laid out on the dining room table, specifically to spot “naked” ladies. Of course, the ladies weren’t naked—maybe they showed cleavage—or sported short dresses. But these alluring women simply had to go before he’d read the articles. I remember him tearing out offending pages uttering an “Ugh!” and crumpling them up into a ball as I looked on. Since then, I have learned that I may have been observing reaction formation, a defense mechanism in which a person psychologically copes with unacceptable desires by expressing the exact opposite behavior.
Google image
Google image
Curious about current events, Daddy always listened to the radio when he came home from the shop for his mid-day dinner. He subscribed to US News and World Report also. I admire him for keeping up with happenings of the day, a trait I notice in myself.
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I can also summon a favorite memory, one laced with the thrill of going somewhere with Daddy.
Standing in the deep, square-shaped bin behind the driver’s seat of his Cushman scooter, my young self held on to Daddy’s waist tightly when we rounded the corner toward Grandma’s house. Did he drop me off at Grandma’s or take me down to the shop? My memory gets a little wobbly here. But I know I loved the sensation of speed and the breeze on my face, billowing my sleeves and maybe my dress as we scooted down the hill on Anchor Road.
This model from the 1940s or 50s.
You have memories too.
Here’s where to share them!
Good morning, Marian! How wonderful that you correspond with a childhood friend! And have a picture (which is adorable). I don’t have either.
A few weeks ago I did a poetry workshop that brought back–unexpectedly–some childhood memories. Then I talked to my sister, and we shared more memories.
See: A memory sparked a conversation with your sister. How fortunate to make connections like this. Thanks (again) for being #1 here! 😀
You’re welcome, Marian! 😊
Wonderful memories here, Marian. You look so adorable on that photo!! I think it is so awesome that you still correspond with your childhood friend. I also have a friend that I’ve known since we were babies. Our lives are very different but we still keep in touch, which is nice. I still correspond by mail with a couple of friends. I love getting things in the mail. Have you read the book The Correspondent by Virginia Evans? It’s so good. I think you would like it. I hope all is well with both of you. 💖💖
You are so fortunate to receive letters in the mail. It (sorta) makes up for some of the junk mail.
Yes, I have read Virginia Evans’ The Correspondent and reviewed it on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/7975074201 Who knew that an epistolary novel would make the bestseller list.
Darlene, thanks for the compliment and adding to the conversation here. Progress is slow, but Cliff is doing better. 😀
I’m pleased you enjoyed The Correspondent as much as I did. Excellent review. I am lucky to get snail mail. We seldom get junk mail here.
Marian, such a cute photo of you, Hazel, and the others!
I used to correspond with a friend via snail mail. I haven’t done so in months. I need to get back to sending her letters. It really is nice to receive one.
We used to get LIFE magazine when I was a kid, as well as READER’S DIGEST and NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC. My parents were all for giving us as much information as possible. We had encyclopedias too.
Handwritten letters certainly stand out when we get them via snail-mail.
Your parents’ investment in your learned certainly paid off, L. Marie. We had access to all those periodicals from our Aunt Ruthie. Then, they accumulated in her attic and we had to deal with them when we cleared out her house: The NATIONAL GEOGRAPHICs were so heavy and she had loads. Ha! 😀
What a delightful post, Marian! One of the refugees of the Bosnian war, a nurse who now lives in Iowa, crocheted so much clothing for her granddaughter. That photo of the four of you is darling. And that scooter!
Joy, as a keeper of your family history, you can probably relate to many of these artifacts.
I don’t see many babies with crocheted outfits these days. I’m guessing the nurse from Bosnia found comfort in crocheting for her family. Thank you! 😀
Unbeknownst to the rest of the family, my dad had always wanted a motorcycle. After my brother and I left home, he got his wish. When the weather was nice, he’d strap a milk crate on the back, secure his Communion kit with bungee chords, and off he’d go to do his shut-in calls, nursing home visits, and hospital visits.
A fellow clergyman he was close to included that motorcycle in his eulogy. Apparently, his friend (and others) expected my dad to end up in a ditch with the motorcycle on top of him. I have a photograph of my dad sitting on his motorcycle with my baby niece in front of him. Needless to say, my brother put the kibosh on any kind of ride with Grandpa for young Amanda.
Quite a story, Liz, thanks!
Motorbike and motorcycle sprints are probably more efficient than using a car, albeit probably not as safe. If you ever feel at a loss for a theme, this tale would hit the spot. 😀
Oh my goodness! I remember Ivory Flakes; I can feel their texture and weightlessness in my hands. I haven’t thought about that soap in decades. Mom didn’t sew, but she had a woman she could hire to fix things. I remember driving to her house, and waiting in the car, while Mom grabbed a bundle of clothes in the backseat to take inside. I am going to be awake all night until I think of her name, haha!
And that scooter! That is the coolest thing! I think it looks really modern for its time. Fascinating. I think my Dad would have loved a vehicle like that. Thanks, Marian for sharing more of your history and encouraging us to go back into our own memory banks. ☺️
Melanie, when you’re not thinking so hard, the sewing woman’s name will pop up from your subconscious, your memory bank!
The scooter image is from Google, of course. Dad’s model looked a little more beat up than that. And I don’t remember a color. It seems brown or charcoal (not blue) in my memory.
Thanks for joining in and exploring your own memories! 😀
I’ll try and take your advice, I hope it pops up. 😊 And prompting memories is always a valuable exercise, especially for those of us in the memoir genre. Thank YOU!
Good for you!
Ah yes, the memories would fill a book I have yet to write!
I’m listening to lots of stories by seniors at the place where I have moved. Everyone has a story, everyone has memories…it’s a goldmine!
You landed in a goldmine of stories. Sound like fertile ground for mining your own stories. Actually, you are ahead of the game on this score. You have recorded so many memories in your 2021 printing of Ellie’s World. And I have a copy, Elfrieda! 😀
Dorsheimer’s, Moose’s, Jake Fisher’s, Zarfoss Hardware, Schroll’s, Raymond and Lizzie Gephart’s store, Lesher’s and Economy Shoe stores, Grace Blough’s…. The list goes on and on… Good memories of afternoons spent “browsing.” Even as a kid, I do not remember that any adult working in any of the stores treated me as if I was in the way. Levi Hersey and his wife taught me how to count change in their little store on South Market St. We come from a great town.
We share so many memories of the E-Town that “used to be.” I don’t remember Jake Fisher’s, but I do remember the others, especially Gephart’s Store, jammed floor to ceiling with good stuff! And of course, you remember being greeted by a clerk who would say, “May I help you?” with a smile, of course.
Thanks for sharing your memories here, Stephanie! 😀
Oh my, it’s hard to know where to start. But I do remember gathering eggs in the chicken house and trying to avoid being clucked on (or worse) by the chickens. We also wore bonnets on our heads (usually made by my grandma) that kept the smells our of our hair, particularly on Sunday evenings when we headed to church (for the second time in the day) and Mom didn’t want to wash our hair at that point, so the bonnets helped keep the chicken smells out! Weird memories to share here, I’m guessing!! 🙂
I hear you, Melodie. Trying not to get “clucked” by chicken beaks was a big part of my job the summer a farmer’s wife hired me to help her before her twins were born. I fed the steers, gathered eggs, and did laundry among other things. I never wore a bonnet to avoid chicken smells, but I can see the point. Good story! 😀
I love that cool motorcycle, Marian. It reminds me of the Italian Vespas scattered all over Europe. We didn’t have a scooter or a motorcycle on our farm, but we did have a riding lawnmower. My father would disable the blade, and we could then pretend our lawnmower was a slick racing car or just a family automobile. We made special roads for it in our play area behind the barn.
How cool that your dad made the lawnmower into an ATV–well, sort of. Actually, my dad’s scooter didn’t look as sleek as the Google model here. And I don’t think it was blue.
Yes, I do remember the Vespas, especially hard to dodge in Rome. I think we heard a siren once but amazed there weren’t more accidents. Thanks for your observation here, Shirley. 😀
I kept in touch with a friend I made at church during my college years always via “snail mail”. She lost her job and moved back home; I moved the opposite direction for school and got married. She was my confidante when my marriage was a disaster and when I struggled with infertility. She married a man she met online from Africa – I encouraged her while she went through the long process to bring him to Canada and when her parents’ health failed. We lost touch for a few years until one day she wrote me out of the blue. We picked up as if no time had passed. She had drifted from God, as well as me, and God “woke her up”.
I lost her a year later to cancer. I miss her. I miss having someone to write to in this special way, where my heart was shared freely, my thoughts “secreted” for just one. I’m so glad you have someone with whom to share memories and milestones. 🙂
Jenn, I like the line “We picked up as if no time had passed.” I think that’s because you and your friend shared a history from way back, and encouragement flowed back and forth. It sounds as though you both experienced a wake-up call regarding faith as well.
Thanks for adding this heart-felt vignette to the conversation! 😀
Hi Marian, it is wonderful that you have this long distance, close friendship with a childhood friend. I am very poor and staying in contact with people. Thanks for sharing these delightful memories and photographs.
You touch many lives around the globe, and your fondant figures are like medicine. So, Robbie, I will respectfully disagree. Just because you don’t put a stamp on a card, doesn’t mean you don’t stay in touch. However, friends who don’t do social media might be another story. You are doing the best you can! 😀
These are some great memories, Marian. And I love it that you still stay in touch with a good friend via ordinary mail!
I find that, some nights when I can’t sleep, my mind goes down memory lane. I’m very torn about the memories – I embrace them but they also make me sad, because the older we get the more loved ones we lose. Luckily, I’m way too busy and exhausted these days to lie awake deep in thought.
Liesbet, your days are so very busy, I can sense you are tired. Maybe a break from the road soon?
You are right: “The older we get the more loved ones we lose.” As a matter of fact, I’m attending a funeral of a friend tomorrow. One bright thought though: In two weeks, we will be attending the wedding of two friends, the bride in her seventies. 😀
Oh, the precious memories we treasure Marian. I loved the bookend photo of you. I picked you out without your description, lol. A fun and nostalgic post. 🥰
Thank you, Debby! Lots of baby and young girl photos of me floating around in blog land. 😀