Hello, and welcome to A Random Post. The 'About' page will fill you in on our origins and purpose. Currently, I'm editing a group of essays and random memories of people, places, and things. Excerpts will be appearing on the blog as they are completed. Thank you for reading.

Wednesday, December 23, 2020

Christmas Letters

My Christmas letter this year is just one of memories:

It is just a song at twilight as the lights are turned down low and the shadows (memories) softly come and go...

My childhood recalled with pictures and memories of long ago... memories of summertime:

Laying in bed as a child and listening to the whip-poor-will calling in the oak tree behind the barn on the farm on La Rue Road, Newfoundland.

Sunday afternoon rides up through Sussex County and lower NY state.

Cat fishing with Dad and Granddad Post, Arnold, and I at Hank's Pond. The bamboo poles that were kept on hooks under the eves behind the woodshed they were in the era 1936-1940.

The golden years of childhood.

My childhood ended in July 1944, the day my Grandfather Post died. He had been a part of my daily life for 14 years. I have many pictures of him that bring back memories of that innocent childhood on the farm.

Some years ago, I wrote a story of my summer days on the farm and haying with my grandfather and Uncle Mart.1 Also, the story of making maple syrup each spring on the farm.1 The sap house on the Clinton Brook, the sugar maple trees, some of which had been tapped by my great, great grandfather, Peter Post around 1820. Boiling the sweet sap down in 3 iron kettles and one brass kettle. The syrup was finished off in the brass kettle as it was lighter and could be taken off the fire faster. After my grandfather died in 1944, I boiled some syrup a couple of years after school and on weekends. Mostly just making enough syrup for the family.


Note: The letter ends here. Dad probably got interrupted or fell asleep, and never went back to finish it. It was written in 2010, just before his 80th Christmas.

So why post an unfinished letter? Because memories matter. They define us, teach us, and inspire us. Despite all the millions of pictures posted daily on social media, few are accompanied by a written memoir. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but when your memories start to fade it won't serve you well. And it won't speak to your family when you're gone. The written word speaks forever.

Happy Christmas, everyone!

1Essays coming soon.

Tuesday, November 24, 2020

Thanksgiving Years Ago

Thanksgiving has always been a special time in the Post family, though I don't remember too much about the early years, the 1930's. We always went next door to Grandma and Granddad's where most of the rest of the Post family were also gathered. Whether it was turkey, chicken, goose or duck, I don't really remember but I do know it was all homemade. Pies, rolls, breads, freshly churned butter, maybe even native cranberries from the bogs around Dunken Pond1 up in Paradise2. Whatever it was, it was good, Grandma, both grandmothers for that matter, were excellent cooks.

As we walked across to Grandma's we kids always sang, "Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house we go," even though it was only a couple hundred feet next door.

In later years, Grandma and Granddad stopped having the big celebrations, as they were getting older and it was too much for them. Also, my cousins were older and often had other plans.

Our family almost always had the traditional dinner - usually a goose and sometimes a duck, too. Grandma and Granddad Buchanan would join us and Aunt Maybelle and Uncle Bill Dongon were usually guests for dinner. Some years after the war and before their move to California, Uncle Buck (Mom's brother) and Aunt Vi, would also come for dinner.

For a few years, we alternated with Uncle Ted and Aunt Sug. We would go to Riverdale one year and sometimes they would come up to Newfoundland. We even went to one of Aunt Sug's sister's a few years.

Needless to say, there was always a lot of family around for Thanksgiving dinner. Even today, those family and friends back in Vermont get together, a dozen or more of them, for the traditional holiday meal.

Note: A lot has changed since Dad wrote this back in November of 2001. The limb of our family tree has lost many of its leaves, where others have new growth. I miss the family and friends who are no longer here to celebrate with us. I miss the gathering.

Despite what or who may be missing, I am extremely grateful for two things: the memories of what has been and the memories yet to be made.

However you are spending your Thanksgiving holiday this year, may you be blessed.


Essay written by Leslie L. Post, edited by Wendy [Post] English

1Dad's handwriting wasn't clear. If you know the correct name of the pond he might have been referencing, please let me know!
2I wasn't able to locate a town called Paradise in NJ, NY, or PA. If anyone knows what town or location Dad might have been referring to, please let me know!