Souvenirs I Still Cherish
Helen Stanberry’s Story
Read by Lindsey Beth Hummel
The young couple had just arrived in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. They had come from California to teach at the University. They sought property with “character” and with land. They were still amazed by a place with so many trees.
Graduate school and the cross-country move had considerably reduced their financial resources. When the agent showed them the large frame house with its towering trees and historic barn, they fell in love with the property. AND, it was one of the very few they could afford.
It would need some repairs and considerable modernization, but it was still perfect for raising their young sons.
A month or so after they had moved in, the young couple approached the barn. Its upper level was strewn with what looked like historical artifacts, things that seemed from another age. When they looked closely at these items, they found that they were actually souvenirs that someone had purchased. Each had a small tag with a notation written on it. For example, a moth-eaten, feathered Indian headdress said, Sioux Nation, South Dakota. A facsimile of the Declaration of Independence had a tag with Independence Hall, Philadelphia, and a dried-up container said, Salmon eggs, Grand Coulee Dam, Washington.
The family was puzzled. What was this collection? It obviously belonged to someone associated with the house. But who?
Then, carefully organized in a cardboard box, they found a collection of over 100 postcards. The postcards all seemed to be of the same time period, probably late 1930s, and they came from all over the United States. Only two had any writing on them.
One was addressed to Mr. S. O. Stanberry and was signed Helen. It simply said, “mailed package of my souvenirs, hope they arrive safely.” It was postmarked Kalispell, Montana.
The second was a cartoon postcard of a car loaded with souvenirs. On the front someone had written “Helen” and “Ralph.” The message on the back simply said, “Heading home, S.E. Eggers.” The postcard had been cancelled, but there was no marking where.
The young wife took the box of postcards into the house and placed them in a safe place. Later, she inserted each card into a plastic sleeve. As she looked through them, she wondered, “Who was Helen?”