When the Detroit Tribune sent a reporter out to ride on the wagon of rural route mailman and Civil War veteran Lawrence Buland just after the turn of the century, the result was a vivid portrait of Ypsilanti Township farm life.

The reporter said, “I have had the opportunity to make the round through 25 miles of zigzag country road with a rural mail carrier, an experience which has possibly never before been enjoyed by a newspaper man, and the striking novelty of the route with its new type of rural roundsman is one that affords a wealth of color and incident.”

“I was fortunate in the selection of my route, as Carrier Lawrence M. Buland, a well-known character in Ypsilanti township and the first carrier on route No. 1, Ypsilanti, proved to be a man of fertile resource and varied information.”

Late in October, the reporter arrived at the Ypsilanti post office at 9 a.m. “in order to catch the rural postmen before they flung their 40 pounds of mail into their carts and beat along the Huron river into the open country in their several directions. Postmaster H. D. Wells with his force were busy sorting mail and the three rural men were found swapping experiences in their waiting room.”

The pair set off in Buland’s wagon. “Carrier Buland is a small, active man, with iron gray mustache and furrowed features. His sharp blue eyes have seen through many a deal which netted him the income on which he lives, for the truth is the carriers get only $500 a year [about $13,000 today] and must keep two horses. He arranged his great sackful of mail, threw it in behind the seat of his gig and drove off enthusiastic, hopeful, and full of good nature.”

“One carrier went north, another west, while we followed the Huron river south for several miles. The routes are circular, and no foot of the way is traveled twice in the day.” The pair left the city traveling south on Huron.

“The golden beauty of autumn lay over the road, and few people were within doors. Postman Buland rubbed his hands in anticipation: he would be greeted by every man, woman, and child and his leathern bag was bursting. A long line of splendid farms followed the Huron river road as far as the eye could see, beginning at the corporation limits. Here was the first mail box leaning expectantly from its post. Buland’s wise black horse spurted in, and the carrier made haste to catch the box on the fly.”

“‘She never stops, the old girl knows every turn,’ said the postman, reaching out to open the box, chuck in the mail, and close the box again. A call from the nearby house brought the mare to a stop.” This was Hiram and Mary Seaver’s farm, just south of Ypsilanti. Mary Seaver was a diarist as well as a farmer, and her diary is preserved in the Ypsilanti Archives. Mary, in her 70s at this time, came to greet Mr. Buland.

“‘Good morning, Aunt Seaver,’ said Buland to an old lady in a poke bonnet, ‘how’s the baby?’”

“After imparting the information, Aunt Seaver wanted some stamps, and the handy postman doled out a quarter’s worth. Mrs. Mary Chicken [from a farm just southwest of the Seaver farm] was visiting the new baby. She wanted her mail there. ‘There was none? Oh, pshaw!’”

For the reporter’s sake, Buland asked Mrs. Seaver whether she liked the rural mail service.

She said, “‘Why, it’s just this way. . . I don’t know what we’d do without it. I really don’t know how we’d live if they’d take it away.’”

Back on the road, Buland expounded on the variety of mail boxes in use. “‘The inspector—Campbell is his name—has not ordered any special kind of box exceptin’ that it is rain-proof, which many are not. . . Now look at that box, not long enough for a paper, and too deep for ordinary diving. When it rains it is easier, as the letters float. They have some large enough to raise a calf in and others if there was a keyhole in it there would be nothing left of box. Some are home-made and tin-lined, and the mare runs on so that I get cut on the edges.’”

“‘The soap boxes are disappearing, though, and the revolving tin boxes are coming in—now there’s that flag hanging our without any mail in the box. Some people are careless, though I can’t complain. The farmers are good to me. Carry parcels? Sure, if they ask me. But they don’t impose on me. They know I wouldn’t take money for it. The farmers are peculiar in that way. They are accustomed to doing little favors like that for each other, and know nothing of delivery systems. A farmer would faint if you asked him five cents for taking 10 pounds of sugar 10 miles from town for him.’”

“‘Now, I’m not complaining. You see, they give me little things. Last Christmas I got about $25 worth of provisions and other presents from the farmers along my route. Last year I got about $50 worth altogether. Now, how could I charge anything for carrying an odd parcel for such good-hearted people as that Besides, they are considerate and seldom ask me.’”

“About giving rides? Oh yes, I give anyone a lift. Don’t catch me starting out with only one seat. People want to come from town with me. I never refuse, nor do I charge anything. They leave money for stamps and everything. I wish to darnation they would put stamps on their letters. It worries me so to take off my gloves in cold weather and pick up pennies from the corners of mail boxes.’”

The Tribune reporter said, “The carrier fell into a momentary pessimistic strain of thought as he struck a long uninhabited stretch of road. One could imagine the winter wind shrieking through the great oaks.”

Buland spoke again. “‘This road is abominable in winter. There have been pretty tough times with me and the old mare. The cold wind, the heavy clay roads of fall are nothing to that road in winter. For two days winter before last I was stalled on that road and the people simply didn’t get their mail. It’s pretty tough in bad weather and I don’t mind telling you it’s pretty monotonous at times, the same road every day for two years. When it rains I take my top buggy. Some of the carriers complain about the sloppy weather, but I don’t kick much.’”

“‘It’s deuced hard on a horse. Why, no horse would stand it every day. I have to keep two horses and give them day about on the road. And the government gives me $500 for the work. I start out at 8 o’clock in the morning to sort my mail and don’t get back from my round until 3 o’clock in the afternoon. Then it takes me an hour to groom my horse and fix my cart. It costs me $15 a month to feed my horse and $3 a month for blacksmithing.’”

Buland explained, “‘I make things meet by turning a deal now and again buying horses and buggies to sell again. I have to give a $1,000 bond and my substitute gives $500. I heard that some carriers in another state were selling things on the side, but that is not done here. We sell nothing and make absolutely no money that way. The express companies tried to get us to act as agents for them here, but our inspector called them off.’”

“‘The road is angular and not the best. The township has spent money fixing up the roads, however, since the rural delivery came in. It is a factor in the making of good roads. Inspector Campbell of this district says we are carrying the mail at a cost of 3 cents a piece, and I carried about 8,000 pieces last month.’”

Still on southbound Huron, Buland pointed out some nearby homes. “‘Weston Bros. live there,” said the mail man pointing to a house, “and a fine farm they have. They work the Hammond farm lower down, I believe, Hammond from Detroit, you know, sunk thousands of dollars there, built barns enough to hold Noah’s stock during the flood. Back there near the corporate limits of Ypsilanti is S. O. Arnold’s box. He lives right next to town, but gets his mail just the same every day from me. His nearest neighbor inside the limits has to travel a mile for it. Henry P. Laflin lives right here—see his name on the box.’” Laflin’s farm lay just northeast of the junction of Huron St. and Huron River Drive. Buland turned east onto Huron River Drive.

“‘By jinks, I forgot to tell you today is the second anniversary of the commencement of this route. I remember talking a while to Austin here on my first trip. I’ll call him over. Austin lives on the right hand and his father-in-law on the other side. A better farm can’t b seen out of doors.’”

“‘Alonzo! Heigh ho-ho! Alonzo!’ called the carrier as he flagged Farmer Austin, who was following a seed drill across a beautifully cultivated field. Alonzo came and got his foot up on Buland’s hub.”

“‘Now, Alonzo, if you don’t like this rural deliver business say so,’ said Buland encouragingly.”

“‘The rural delivery is all right, but the carrier should be removed,’ was Alonzo’s unexpected reply. Buland wanted to talk about the crops and was further discomfited to hear Austin continue:”

“‘I says to my wife, says I, when you come here first. Says I: “Mrs. Austin, we ain’t er going to like this new fellow that carries the mail. He’s a crank. He’s a man I ain’t going to like.”’”

“Buland’s countenance fell.”

“‘But I reckon I’ve changed my mind. He’s the best fellow in the world and most obliging. The rural delivery is the best thing I’ve heard of for a long time. Father would not get along without his daily paper now, and I like to glance over it at noon and read every word of it at night. It’s as good as a trip to town.’”

“’Dog gone it. I didn’t think he was going to give me a bad name, and he didn’t,’ said the carrier, who recovered his composure and in fact was somewhat elated. ‘Why, he gave a present not long ago some vegetables.’”

“‘Here’s Frank Stockdale’s big crop farm,’ continued Buland. ‘He takes a lot of newspapers, two dailies and several bi-weeklies. There is Mrs. M. L. Smith. She is looking expectantly for her mail. They have a neat home there. All good prosperous people on my route, own their own farms, you know. This is the Tuttle hill. E. W. McGrady lives back on the other road, but comes to the corner for his mail. Wish he was around today—fine fellow, and progressive. This is J. W. Tuttle’s house, near the Tuttle school. Children every bother me? Bless me, no, never any trouble.’”

“On the east Monroe road the carrier comes to the Draper corner [at Huron River Drive and Textile roads]. C. D. Campbell, Albert Day and Wallace Draper have boxes on these corners. Ruth Draper, with 12 years’ growth of sunny curls, tripped out to meet him, full of expectancy. The postman means much to her and she has quite a bunch of mail, her very, very own.”

The pair traveled west on Textile and turned south onto Tuttle Hill Road. “‘Mrs. J. K. Tuttle and W. H. Boutell have the next farms, and they are good ones. Why, here is some money. Seventy-five cents, and nothing to say what for,’ said the carrier as he fished up a roll of paper inclosing something hard. Three 25-cent pieces fell out.”

“‘An old lady who is a widow lives here,’ continued the carrier as his horse turned in at a cottage nestling under a glorious canopy of maples in autumn foliage. ‘Mrs. Bertha Bunnaback: her husband died several years ago and she is making a success of farming on her own resources. There was a big mortgage on the place but she has paid it all off.’”

“The black mare started suddenly into an open gateway as if looking for an escaped mail box. She drew up at a pump in the yard of the Beamis Bros. farm and the box was on a post beside the pump. The Beamis brothers were threshing beans. An American flag hung from the box instead of the usual signal rag.”

“‘We take 16 papers,’ said Orrin J. Beamis, as he smudged the threshing dust on his face with his sleeve. ‘We wouldn’t do without the daily post for a round sum annually.’”

“‘I water the mare there every day,’ explained Buland. ‘For that reason the box is inside.’”

“At the corner of the cross roads [of Tuttle Hill Road and Martz Roads] the carrier came to a school house with a collection of mail boxes. The road here took a turn southwest, this point behind six miles from Ypsilanti, the most distant point on the route which describes a great semi-circle and lies wholly in the township of Ypsilanti. The settlement here [just north of the border with Augusta Township] was one of Quakers and prosperity seemed to be located there root and branch.”

Buland said, “‘Four families get their mail here. Mrs. Rhoda Derbyshire, R. E. Gorton, John Groves, and Rev. W. W. Brown. They come from down the cross roads for about half a mile, some of them to save me going up and back. Gorton was our road commissioner. I think most of the people around here are Quakers and they all take a daily paper. When this rural delivery was started there were only two papers taken among the hundred families. Now there are 115. There is food for thought.’”

The pair continued south on Tuttle Hill Road to Bemis Road, on the township line. “‘That fine brick house under the maples is the Alban’s home. The Albans are rich and influential farmers. That is G. H. Alban and his brother working by the roadside,’ said Carrier Buland as he drew up to talk to the busy farmers. At the same moment a man drove up with a jug of corn on a cart. He was dressed in a blue smock and trousers. It was Rev. W. W. Brown, the Quaker minister. His little white church stood on the corner [of Tuttle Hill Road and Bemis Roads].”

“‘Is that you, Mr. Alban? Come here till I see you,” called Buland as he fumbled for the Alban mail.”

“‘I reckon you’re not mistaken, though I’m not much to see,’ said Farmer Alban as he scraped his boots on his spade.

Buland asked Farmer Alban about his opinion of the rural mail delivery. “‘The rural delivery, ho! A splendid thing. It makes farm life attractive. You city folks can’t crow now. I suppose you’ll be wanting to put a tax on us because we have something good. I’m willing. I take two daily papers, and I wouldn’t like to be without them. I think we have everything now—telephone and daily mail. I can read the market reports in the paper and no wandering buyer can fool me now with old reports. With the telephone in my house I can sell my produce after consulting the report fresh from the city. I sold a load of grain the other day, and I got the very best price for it. No, sir, you can’t take the daily delivery from us now.’”

The two set off west on Bemis Road. “‘Dan O’Brien’s place here is just half a mile from Willis postoffice. He used to get his mail there,’ said the carrier. ‘He is the only one who had changed from another office to the route. F. W. Horner, on the other side of the road, is a prominent cattle buyer and takes many daily stock journals. Robert K. Simons, his neighbor, has a box. He says he takes a daily paper to keep up with the system.’”

“The carrier got out to stretch himself at the Centennial school, and to make inquiry of the teacher. Her box was perched upon the gate post. A letter, yes, for Miss Mabel Cross, but as there are two Mabel Crosses in the township, and both were teachers, the pretty Miss Cross of the Centennial School looked somewhat cross over the matter.”

“‘Herbert Harris’s mail box is next,’ continued the driver. ‘He is a colored man and an excellent farmer: here are his two dailies.’”

“‘His neighbor is B. D. Kelly, the largest stock raiser in these diggings, and he has the largest mail on my route.’”

“Mrs. Kelly wanted to buy some envelopes, but the carrier wasn’t in the business. She said the women folks wouldn’t do without the daily delivery for anything.”

“Fred A. Graves came driving down the road with a load of milk cans direct from Ypsilanti. Mr. Graves was born and has lived 70 years on his farm. Mr. Graves is a very cautious man and slow to admit that there was anything good under the sun.” “‘This rural delivery is a good thing for them who like it,’ he admitted.”

“J. D. Everett, George Crane, and M. A. Merritt, all prominent farmers, were doled out their portions from the sack which was rapidly dwindling. At the Lowden school [on the Lowden farm at Bemis and Stony Creek roads] the children sighted the carrier and met him in a throng. The mail for the teacher, Miss Fannie Chatterton, was delivered there, though the little red box was seldom needed. Ex-Rep. James L. Lowden, who, the carrier said, was at first opposed to the system, announced himself as being an enthusiast.”

“Carrier Buland pulled up at the house of Newton E. Crittenden [at Bemis and the onetime Ellis roads], the staunchest advocate of the delivery in the township. The carrier secured fresh milk at the farm house and ate his lunch while the horse munched Farmer Crittenden’s oats.”

“‘Crittenden thinks our salary should be raised,’ continued the carrier, as he whipped his horse up again.” Buland traveled north on Ellis, which at this time extended south all the way to Bemis Road and beyond. “‘He tried to have a route established west of here, but some of the farmers are slow to appreciate a good thing.’”

“‘L. L. Clement, who lives on the hill here [at Ellis and Textile], takes the second largest amount of mail. He says he wouldn’t take $25 a year and do without it, although he lives only three miles from town. See the old man tottering to the gate? That is Grandfather Chicken. He is over 90, but he hobbles to the gate, rain or shine.’”

“The old man’s face was lit up with a fixed smile as he leaned over the gate with his palsied hand extended as it has been every day for two years at the postman’s hour.” “‘Are you well?’ said the old man, in reply to every question.”

“‘I never take the box; the old man’s hand is always extended,’ said Buland feelingly. ‘And when the weather is too wild I can see the old man peering in at the windows with his still extended hand. I carry him the mail.’”

“‘Now, there is the Mowry’s, the Ehl’s, the Begoles and the Elliott’s and I am done,’ said the roundsman of the country roads as [the southwestern side of] Ypsilanti was coming into view. ‘It is 3 o’clock. The last man gets his mail at that hour, while the first not half a mile away got his at 9 a.m. Now, don’t you think Uncle Sam should pay us more for the 25 mile route?’”

“His listener assented.”

Note: While I have attempted to reconstruct this route based on contemporary plat maps, I may have made a mistake, and welcome correction. The original newspaper story also seemed a bit out of order, and I have taken the liberty of rearranging one section in what seemed a more logical sequence.

Laura Bien is the author of "Stud Bunnies and the Underwear Club:Tales from the Ypsilanti Archives," to be published this winter. She also writes the historical blog "Dusty Diary" and may be contacted at ypsidixit@gmail.com.

“Cold Off the Presses” is published every Wednesday on AnnArbor.com.