Waiting for Mail

McMURDO STATION, ANTARCTICA

There is a steady stream of parka clad workers popping into the mailroom first thing in the morning, checking for letters and packages from home on their way to work. I take advantage of a short lull to slip into the mailroom and sort through the basket of mail for the field camps. While I linger over the stacks of envelopes and packages, I listen as the mailroom clerk asks for the name of each person who comes up to her counter. Each answers expectantly with the slight rise of hope at the end of the sentence. Some customers quietly accept the envelopes handed over and head on to work, others comment on the mail they hope for, and the mail they receive. "Still no letters? She doesn't love me," bemoans one empty handed customer. "Oh that's not true. She loves you," consoles the clerk. I can hear the swell in another pair's conversation as they are each handed the oversized red envelopes of belated Christmas cards. "Ugh. A bill?!?!" another groans, disappointed that the rest of the world has caught up with him here on our remote island. As I listen to the reactions, I think what an interesting snippet of life this is- all the hope and anticipation tied up in tiny packages, the disappointment of the empty-handed ones falling in heaps on the mailroom floor.

The mailroom is rather sparse these days. These days there is more disappointment than pleasure in the world of mail. It's been weeks now since we received the last C-17, the large wheeled cargo planes that bring luxuries like mail and fresh produce. The smaller LC-130's bring only the necessary cargo and passengers. It will be some weeks yet until we see the return of the C-17, when hopefully the runway will be able to support the heavier wheeled aircraft again.