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Tales from Exit 22 by Al Batt

I send picture postcards.

Why? Do I think it solves all the world’s problems? No, it’s because I enjoy sending picture postcards.

When I was a boy, travel didn’t come easy to my people. My extended family did most of their long-distance traveling while wearing a government-issued uniform. Many of the rest of my kin were as comfortable traveling as a possum is at saying grace at a potluck.

We did get picture postcards from those who could sneak away. We’d get some from those escaping winter in Texas (images of pecan pie, cowboys, rattlesnakes or staggering plates of smoked meats) and Florida (showing images of oranges or alligator wrestling). Sometimes, we’d get a picture postcard with a painting of a giant building in Chicago. More often, we’d get a lovely picture postcard from someone at a Midwestern state fair or a plowing contest. Most others came from a roadside gas station/cafe or a wacky tourist attraction. Some of the travel was brought about by a need to visit relatives, especially elderly relatives, because you never know.

Picture postcards were a big thing. They brought me glimpses of places and things I’d never seen that had been eyed by someone I knew. It was almost like being there. It gave me hope I might see the two-headed alligator I could see later twice as the postcard carried the message, “See you later, alligator.” Hopes and dreams in the mailbox. I appreciated them.

Did you know that the German chocolate cake name comes from an American baker, Samuel German, who developed a type of dark baking chocolate in 1852? I read that earth-shattering revelation on an ancient picture postcard in a thrift shop.

I wanted to send picture postcards when I was a kid. But what would I send? I’d been nowhere. I knew how to diagram sentences, and could have demonstrated that on the picture postcard the Rambler dealer had given me showing last year’s Ambassador model, but I’d likely trip over a dangling participle.

I learned about the lives of the senders of picture postcards. They’d write things like, “Everyone is having a wonderful time except Herb. Whatever he has is acting up. It might be his deep pockets and short arms.”

We didn’t go to many places. Most of our travels were to the barn, the chicken house and the fields, but we visited The Shrine of the Grotto of the Redemption religiously. It’s in West Bend, Iowa, and is called the largest manmade grotto in the world and the Eighth Wonder of the World. Mom bought a couple of picture postcards on each visit to send to people to let them know we weren’t tethered to agriculture.

When I’m in Nebraska looking at the sandhill cranes, I send picture postcards of cranes with scribbled wisdom like this, “I saw 500,039 cranes today. How do I know it was 500,039? I counted the wings and divided by two.”

A blind at Rowe Sanctuary near Kearney, Nebraska, allowed me to get a good look at the cranes taking to the air like smoke off the water. It was even more thrilling than when the Lone Ranger invited us all to “Return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear! From out of the past come the thundering hoofbeats of the great horse Silver! The Lone Ranger rides again!”

I sent a picture postcard (I’m obviously thrilled by writing “picture postcard”) on which I’d written, “Tom Brokaw and his high school buddies sat in the blind with us. I finally found someone who could mimic the call of a sandhill crane perfectly. It wasn’t Brokaw. It was another sandhill crane.”

I was in Sitka, Alaska, to watch some whales. Why were the whales there? I think it was because of the gift shop. I sent picture postcards of whales saying I was having a whale of a time. How could I not?

People sent picture postcards because they were kind, thoughtful and wanted others to know they were riding a gravy train with biscuit wheels.

I send picture postcards because I like people, and it’s as fun as all get out. It doesn’t get much better than that.

As long as I remember the stamps.

Al Batt’s columns appear in the Tribune every Wednesday.