I was carried away on a wave of nostalgia when I saw the wall of these old post office boxes. I grew up in a small town in North Dakota and remember getting the mail inside the local post office which was located on main street next to a cafe and two doors down from the movie theater.
We were PO Box 133 for many years- probably until my parents passed away. I remember the metal dial as shown below as well as the little window that offered just a glimpse to show you if your box held mail or not.
I recall the first piece of mail I received. My godparents from Montana had sent me a small package for my birthday. I was turning 5 or 6 years old and, boy, was I ecstatic to realize I could get a surprise like that out of the blue with no ceremony or fanfare- just a package wrapped in plain brown paper addressed to me. What was this wondrous thing called 'mail' and how could I get some more? And so it began.