LETTERS

In search of the elusive...

Posted 12/9/14

To the Editor:

“Do you think you can find one?” my wife asked as she placed freeze-dried rations in my backpack. “I haven’t seen one for quite a while.”

“Someone spotted one the …

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LETTERS

In search of the elusive...

Posted

To the Editor:

“Do you think you can find one?” my wife asked as she placed freeze-dried rations in my backpack. “I haven’t seen one for quite a while.”

“Someone spotted one the other day and I think I know where it is. But they are elusive and harder to find than a fulfilled campaign promise. I’ll do my best to locate one. Just don’t get your hopes too high. They haven’t been seen in our neighborhood for some time, and I’ve heard they are almost extinct.” 

I wriggled into my backpack, slung my canteen, adjusted my hat and picked up a handful of envelopes. Then I kissed her good-bye and left on my search.  

My quarry, once abundant and easily spotted even by the novice hunter, was now scarce and evasive. Where once it was possible to find at least one within walking distance, now finding them could take many hours, if successful. When I first settled here forty-odd years back, the objects of my hunt were plentiful on neighborhood streets, more ubiquitous than today’s roadside basketball hoops. Finding one was easily accomplished. But like the carrier pigeon, the dodo bird and moderate Republicans, my prey also became an endangered species and, like them, would soon disappear like a Malaysian airliner.

In the not too distant past, the search didn’t require effort or equipment. Often on a summer evening I could sit on the front porch and see one under the corner street light or standing quietly by the middle of the street at the curb. But as they became scarcer and nested in out-of-the-way areas, bringing supplies for extended journeys to locate them became mandatory. At first just water and biscuits was sufficient for the trek but, as each trip verged on a holy pilgrimage, snacks and then full meals were necessary equipment.

Occasionally, a friend would stop for coffee and remark offhandedly, “Yep, saw one t’other day, up on Warwick Avenue near the bakery. Least I thought it was one, but they hide behind poles and bushes, so it’s hard to tell. Got no use for ’em, myself. Should just get rid of the lot, for all the space they waste.”

But a trip up there was indeed a waste since nothing was there. Since they’re often found on main roads, I shouldered my pack and trudged on, vainly peering down side streets but finding nothing. I hated to do it, but I’d have to go home to report, despite my best efforts, I couldn’t find a postal deposit box anywhere. 

Barry Nordin

Warwick

Editor’s note: Barry emailed us his report.

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