Old Postcards

 Old Postcards

In the past I’ve shared old postcards that were left to me by my mother-in-law, Retha Morrison. Some were sent to her while others were bought traveling with my father-in-law, Bud. After Bud died, she gathered more as she travelled with her best friends, Conrad and Dorothy Auel. Conrad and Dorothy lived in Sheridan, Pennsylvania. They were great friends. They met at Camp Christian, near Mill Run, Pennsylvania. Bud was the caretaker and Retha did much of the cooking.

Sadly, all of those people are gone and I miss them terribly.

But back to the postcards, there are well over five hundred cards some postmarked and sent while others remain unsent. The earliest card that I’ve found was 1938, but I haven’t looked at al of them yet. What I once posted on Facebook had been a condensation of a camping trip for our church with the teenage kids. It was an experience that I look back on fondly.

There were things that we saw and things we shared that I will never experience again, even if I should live another hundred years. Two of the most lasting memories centered around Sundays and the two different church services that we had.

The first was at King’s Creek Campground in Utah. We actually had the service on a Saturday night, because we had to get up early for the Sunday journey. It was an open air service in an amphitheater with tall evergreen tree walls and a starry sky roof arching high overhead. It was a feeling of closeness to God that I haven’t felt since then.

The other memorable Sunday was the one following our tour of Yellowstone Park, Wyoming was our overnight stay in a small church. It was located in Wapiti Valley, Wyoming. The word wapiti means white rump according to one definition, describing an elk.

The church was built from the timber and boulders that were removed from the site where it was build. The mountains surrounding it, only enhanced its beauty. Inside, were the heads of several antlered elk hanging on the walls beneath high, wooden, cathedral ceilings and over the doors. It was s if the members were paying special attention to one of God’s creations for which the valley and church were named and we were allowed to sleep in the basement and cook inside, instead of having to set up camp to stay overnight.

We would run late if we stayed for Sunday morning service, but how could we refuse to such gracious hosts and I am glad that we did. The most memorable incidents that I can remember were the sharing of music and the collection of the offering.

Unusual memories? Not really. Our group was the special music and the “passing of the hat” was literal. When the ushers collected the offering, they used two white Stetsons as collection plates. It isn’t a memory that will quickly fade, for me and the rest of our troupe.