When I was a kid, I viewed our humble mailbox as a near-magical portal which was capable of holding almost any delight. This thanks to a great aunt who encouraged my interest in biology with a years long Ranger Rick subscription, an uncle who ensured that birthday gifts (along with the fancy cards that were odd shapes or had stickers or coloring books) arrived precisely on the morning of my birthday, and, among many others, a friendly mailman named Mr Smith who would allow me to bypass postage by taking notes home to his daughter - my friend - if I waited by the mailbox to give them to him, and would also deliver replies. It wasn't limited to receiving, either - I sent thank you notes any time anyone gave me anything, managed several pen pals, and corresponded with friends who no longer lived nearby. There's just something so special about finding something in the mailbox with your name on it (that isn't a bill). Besides Ranger Rick , child me also got Nature Friend and Bir...