The Mooresville post office was locked, it being a Sunday, so Harper cupped her hands against the front window and reported what she could see: rows of little wooden mailboxes, a worn counter, a clock. "It's like a museum," she said, "except people still get their mail here."
That's the whole appeal, honestly. Mooresville is about ten minutes east of our house, a few quiet streets of old houses, big trees and one very small post office, and we go back three or four times a year without ever really planning it. The Sunday before Labor Day was our first free weekend day since school started on August 6, and none of us wanted to drive anywhere that involved the interstate.
The post office that is not quite older than the state
Some family facts need correcting. Harper has been telling people for two years that the Mooresville post office is older than Alabama. Here is the real version, which I looked up so I could stop being an accomplice. The town was incorporated in 1818, a year before Alabama became a state in 1819. The post office building went up around 1840, and it is the oldest post office in Alabama that is still open for business. So the town is older than the state, and the post office is simply very, very old.
Harper heard all of this and said, "So I was basically right." She was not. I let it go.
We walked the loop slowly. It takes about 30 minutes if you stop to read every historical marker, and we did. The old brick church sits on its corner looking exactly like it should. There is a stagecoach tavern from the town's early years, which Harper wanted to go inside (it was closed) and Ben wanted to ask about the plumbing in. The houses have porches deep enough to hold a dining table, and a couple of people waved at us from them, the way you wave at visitors you have decided are harmless.
One thing to know before you go: almost everything in Mooresville is somebody's home. People live in these houses. Stay on the street, keep your voice at Sunday level and don't walk up anyone's steps for a better photo. We have watched visitors do that, and I have watched a homeowner's face while they did it.
Why we keep going back
Lunch was on the porch at the little lunch spot in town. It was 91 degrees by noon, and the ceiling fans did the heavy lifting. Harper had a grilled cheese and half of my chicken salad. Ben had the special and a second glass of sweet tea. Nobody looked at a phone. We sat there for an hour, which in our house is a long time to sit anywhere that isn't a soccer field.
I think we keep going back because Mooresville is the opposite of my week. My week is a 38-minute drive on I-565, three days in a cold conference room and a calendar that moves in 30-minute blocks. Mooresville moves at the speed of a porch swing. The whole town takes an hour if you're unhurried about it, and being unhurried about it is the point.
It's also cheap, and close enough that it doesn't need a plan. That matters more than I used to think. The weekend outings that need a plan are the ones we keep putting off. The ones that need ten minutes and a pair of sandals actually happen.
When to go: spring and fall are the easy answers, when the trees are doing something and you can walk at noon without regretting it. Summer works if you go before 10 or after 5. Our one tip is to make it a Sunday. It is the quietest version of an already quiet place, and the only traffic you will see is a man on a riding mower two streets over.
What it cost
- Gas: about $2
- Porch lunch for three, with tip: $41
- A bag of boiled peanuts from a roadside stand on the way home: $5
- The walk, the markers and the view through the post office window: free
Total: about $48. Harper fell asleep in the car with the peanut bag in her lap. Ten minutes was all it took.
