Technically, we don't live in Palm Harbor, but a lot of our neighbors do.
We live in Ozona and gladly pick up our mail each day at the tiny Ozona post office. Our next door neighbors, like many others who live on the fringe, walk outside each day and get their mail from a street side mail box. They lead double lives. Their mailing address is Palm Harbor but they proudly profess being Ozona residents. They don't know what they are missing.
I have often wondered if this area is some sort of secret witness protection haven. Garmin Tom-Tom, Mapquest, none of them can find Ozona. Handy, I suppose, if you are in hiding.
One rural carrier took care of the whole town of Hoagland, Indiana when we lived there. I remember an incident in 1980, our daughter was about seven. Another child relative had sent her a birthday card from California. It was addressed; Lisa. Hoagland, Indiana.
Lisa got the card. To this day I don't know if Lisa was the only Lisa in town or if Don, the mail carrier, recognized it was a birthday card, and knew it was Lisa's birthday.
This brings me to one of the little things about Ozona that we love, our Post Office.
It is a gathering place. We meet and great. We talk about the weather and who is under the weather. We pocket our cell phones and actually converse, face to face.
The Ozona post masters have been a mixed bad over the thirty years we have lived here, most pleasant and efficient, some not so. For many years, if we got mail without our box number, it was sent back to the sender.
We have a gem currently. Her name is Linda. She has a tattoo on her wrist and a sublime smile. I have the feeling she is grateful for her job. I have never seen her complain.
I recently sent off one of those large manilla envelopes, destined to the IRS. I guessed at the postage and dropped it off on my way to work. Later in the day, I checked my box and found a note; "your package was 12 cents short in postage. I paid the difference, you owe me 12 cents". Linda
A little thing.