Photo Prompt Five

Photo courtesy of Helen Montoya Henrichs

The mailboxes were the last to go.

Soon bulldozers and dump trucks would barrel along the country lanes that veined through the wooded hills. By summer, the dusty riverbed behind Mrs. Albin’s back porch would be the sand trap of Hole 13.

The tree house that Mr. Tagliarino built for his grandchildren, where they listened to cassette tapes and waged water balloon wars, would be stripped away from the crook where the tree trunk began to branch. No more than five feet off the ground, but when you were up there, it was a castle’s tower. If the tree made it, it would tower over a parking lot.

Mr. and Mrs. Bishop had added a rooftop deck and remodeled their kitchen and bathrooms not six months ago. They took the longest to convince. The offer doubled, tripled, quadrupled before they agreed. Everyone has a price.

The Wooters, on the other hand, sold first. During his last visit, their son, who had climbed those trees and played in that riverbed, walked the property for the first time in a decade. He realized he’d never fully appreciated the distant view of the glittering city, the whistle of the wind between the hills or the way the sunset made everything glow. It was a beautiful place. His company could make a fortune with it.

Within a month, offers began to fly. Plans were drawn. A marketing campaign launched. One by one, houses emptied.

The mailboxes were the last to go.

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7 thoughts on “Photo Prompt Five

  1. This leaves me a little nostalgic. I’m sure the mailboxes held some amazing stories over the generations in the cards and letters that came and went . . . little histories of these families. I wonder if there may come a day when physical mailboxes are no longer needed. I actually enjoy checking the mail!

    • It’s funny you should mention the phasing out of mailboxes. I had exactly the same thought yesterday when driving around and seeing people getting their mail at one of those community mailboxes. I thought about how glad I am my mailbox is still at the end of my driveway.
      Leisa

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