Mailing May

'Mailing May' is one of those charming historical picture books that sticks with you because of its sheer whimsy. Based on a true story from 1913, it follows little May, a five-year-old girl who wants to visit her grandmother in Idaho but can't afford the train ticket. Her family hatches this wild plan to literally mail her via the US Postal Service—stamps on her coat and everything! The journey is hilarious and heartwarming, with May being passed from postal worker to postal worker like a precious package. The illustrations capture the dusty, early-20th-century Americana vibe perfectly, and there's this underlying theme of community trust that feels almost magical today. I love how it turns a quirky footnote of history into a celebration of childhood adventure and human kindness.

What gets me every time is how matter-of-fact May is about the whole thing—no fear, just pure excitement. It’s a reminder of how kids see the world differently, where being 'mailed' is just another fun way to travel. The book never loses that lighthearted tone, even when May accidentally gets 'lost' in the mail for a bit (don’t worry, she’s fine!). It’s a gem for teaching kids about problem-solving and creativity, and honestly, it makes me wish we could still mail people today—imagine the stories!

Mailing May is such a charming little story! The main character is May, a determined five-year-old girl who wants to visit her grandmother but can't afford the train fare. Her clever cousin Leonard comes up with the wild idea to 'mail' her via the postal service, and the local postmaster, Mr. Beebe, goes along with it. It's based on a true 1914 event!

What I love is how May's innocence and Leonard's resourcefulness shine through. The illustrations in the book perfectly capture their personalities—May's wide-eyed wonder and Leonard's mischievous grin. The postmaster adds this delightful official-but-kind vibe, like he's breaking rules for the right reasons. It's one of those stories that makes you believe in human kindness and childhood ingenuity.

Reading 'Mailing May' always gives me this warm, nostalgic feeling, like flipping through an old family album. The story follows a little girl named May who gets mailed to her grandmother via the postal service in 1914. It sounds wild, but what’s even wilder is that it’s actually based on a true event! There’s a record of a child being mailed in rural Idaho back then—postage rates were different, and apparently, it was technically legal if you followed certain rules. The book captures that quirky slice of history perfectly, blending humor and heart. I love how it doesn’t just stop at the absurd premise; it digs into the community spirit of the era, where neighbors trusted each other enough to pull off something like this. Makes me wish modern life had that kind of whimsy sometimes.

What’s cool is how the author, Michael O. Tunnell, stumbled upon the story while researching postal history. He found newspaper clippings and even interviews with the real May’s descendants, which adds this layer of authenticity. The illustrations by Ted Rand are charming too—they feel like sepia-toned snapshots from the past. It’s one of those kids’ books that adults can appreciate just as much, especially if you’re into odd historical tidbits. Makes me wonder what other bizarre-but-true stories are out there, waiting to be turned into picture books.

Reading 'Mailing May' always brings back this cozy, nostalgic feeling—like stepping into a simpler time where adventures felt boundless. If you loved that whimsical, heartwarming vibe, you might adore 'The Boxcar Children' series. It’s got that same mix of independence and innocence, with kids carving out their own little world. Another gem is 'The Penderwicks'—modern but with old-school charm, focusing on sibling bonds and small-scale escapades that feel huge to the characters.

For something with a historical twist, 'The Great Wheel' by Robert Lawson captures a kid’s journey across continents, much like May’s postal adventure. Or try 'The Hundred Dresses'—quiet but profound, with themes of kindness and perspective. Honestly, books like these remind me why middle-grade fiction can be so magical; they’re tiny windows into big-hearted stories.

Reading 'Mailing May' feels like opening a time capsule of simple childhood adventures. While it’s not packed with flashy action or modern gadgets, the charm lies in its wholesome premise—a girl mailed by train to visit her grandma! I loved how it subtly teaches kids about problem-solving and trust in community, wrapped in a cozy historical setting. The illustrations are warm and inviting, perfect for bedtime storytelling.

Some might argue it’s too slow-paced for today’s fast-media-consuming kids, but that’s exactly why I recommend it. It’s a gentle nudge to appreciate slower, imaginative tales. Pair it with discussions about how communication has changed—kids get wide-eyed comparing stamps to texting!

Missing May is one of those books that lingers in your heart long after you turn the last page. May, the beloved aunt of the protagonist Summer, passes away early in the story, leaving Summer and her Uncle Ob in a haze of grief. The novel beautifully captures how they navigate loss—how emptiness can feel as heavy as a physical presence. May’s death isn’t just a plot point; it’s the quiet storm that shapes every moment afterward. Summer and Ob try to reconnect with her spirit, even traveling to find a medium who might bridge the gap between the living and the dead. It’s raw, tender, and achingly real—especially when Ob’s grief nearly consumes him, and Summer has to step up in ways she never expected. The way Cynthia Rylant writes about mourning isn’t dramatic or exaggerated; it’s in the small things, like how May’s absence makes the house feel too big or how her garden grows wild without her. By the end, there’s no magical fix, just the slow, imperfect process of healing. It’s a kids’ book, but it treats grief with a respect that even adults rarely see.

What struck me most was how May’s love stays alive in their memories. The story doesn’t shy away from pain, but it also shows how love outlasts death—like when Summer finds comfort in remembering May’s quirky habits or the way she laughed. It’s bittersweet, but that’s what makes it so powerful. The book doesn’t tie things up neatly; instead, it leaves you with this quiet hope that grief isn’t about moving on but learning to carry someone with you differently.