Northern Cardinal – The Posted Past

Nina arrived early at the coffee shop near campus in Tempe. The drive up from Tucson was faster than she expected. Nora slid into the booth at 9am sharp. “You’re glowing,” Nina said.

“Nerves.” Nora grinned. “Two years in Taipei, three weeks to learn Mandarin.”

They ordered. Nina nudged a package across the table. She’d wrapped the book of postcards the night before, Navajo Textiles, each page a detachable card with a different striking design. Almost too good to take apart.

Nora opened it and smiled. “These are perfect. They will remind me where I came from. And, we can keep them! I’ll send them back to you.”

She flipped through the cards. “My grandmother did this. Sent us postcards from every trip. Maybe that’s why I love to travel.”

“I want to hear all about it,” Nina said. “Something to look forward to in the mailbox.”

“Deal.”

They talked until Nora had to leave for meetings. Nina hugged her friend outside, watched her disappear into the parking garage. On the drive back to Tucson, she thought about when she might travel again. Someday.

In Minnesota, George came across a box of old stationery while cleaning out a drawer in the office. He’d been ignoring this stuff too long, but it had to be done. He was surprised to find a bunch of notecards and envelopes, postcards from their own travels, even some stamps. Jennie must have tucked them away years ago, then forgotten.

He shuffled through the stack, smiled, and thought about their grandchildren.

Emma, sixteen, newly licensed, texting him sunset photos. Jack, thirteen, reading everything, and his own library growing. Lily, nine, from whom he routinely received animal drawings in manila envelopes.

He wrote to Emma first:

Found this sunset and thought of you – keep your eyes on the horizon! Love, Grandpa

Then, to Jack:

You can find a library in every place. Hope you go some day, and your collection grows. Love, Grandpa

Finally, to Lily, though his hand was aching:

For my favorite artist: a cat to inspire your next drawing. Keep sending pictures. Love, Grandpa

He addressed the cards and peeled the Forever stamps from their yellowed backing. The afternoon sun was glinting off the glassy surface of the snow as George walked down the drive and out to the mailbox. These should get there before Christmas, he thought. Next he’d knock the icicles off the eves over the porch steps, then make dinner.

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The postcard arrived on a Tuesday in December, slipped between the electric bill and a catalog he’d never seen before. George set it on the kitchen table while he made coffee, the red bird on its front catching the weak winter light through the window.

He’d lived seventy-three winters in Minnesota and he could remember nearly as many cardinals. One visited his mother’s feeder every winter morning. A pair of birds nested in the honeysuckle behind their first house, and a solitary male appeared each January at the cemetery where his wife rested.

The bird on the card was just ink and paper, a cheerful holiday visitor perched on a cactus. George smiled at all the memories. Standing at the kitchen window, watching that splash of red move through the frozen world.

He propped the card against the sugar bowl where he could see it while he drank his coffee. That small red bird sent from a warmer climate, it was good company.

Nina stepped onto her back patio in Tucson as the December sun softened toward an early evening. She was carrying her phone and the stack of work she was supposed to ignore. The hospice had been short-staffed for weeks, and even her days off felt heavy with other people’s grief. She sank into the patio chair and her eyes rested on the saguaro at the property line, its arms raised like a benediction against the pale sky. Then, an impossible red against the green ribs of the cactus, a cardinal turning its crested head to stare right at her.

She watched it hop from one arm to another, so vivid it seemed painted there, and suddenly thought of her uncle George. He’d be preparing for snow about now, making sure the feeder was stocked, the northern cardinals waiting through the bare branches. She’d bought that card weeks ago. She meant it to be funny, a little bit of desert sunshine for the cold country.

The bird tilted its head once more, then lifted away toward the neighbor’s tall gate. Nina set down her phone and went to find the card on the table inside. She’d send that postcard tonight. A small bright thing traveling north, carrying a moment of real rest and a reminder of the joys that appear in the landscape.

The connection between George and Nina, between Minnesota snow and Arizona sun, traces a geography that cardinals themselves understand.

The Northern Cardinal’s range stretches from southern Canada through the eastern United States and into Mexico, reaching west through Texas and into Arizona. Unlike many songbirds, cardinals don’t migrate. They remain year-round residents wherever they establish territory. A cardinal in Minneapolis endures the same winter as the people who watch it, while its southwestern cousins never know deep cold at all.

This winter persistence made cardinals natural companions to a tradition that took hold in late 19th century America: backyard bird feeding. As cities grew and winters seemed harsher, people began setting out suet and seed, transforming their yards into small refuges. The cardinal, bold and willing to visit feeders, became a regular presence at kitchen windows during the season when color disappeared from the world. That bit of red against white snow or dark evergreen wasn’t just beautiful—it was companionship. Nature’s daily offer of simple joy.

Holiday card publishers recognized this quiet bond. As postcards surged in popularity in the early 1900s, designers increasingly turned to the natural world for their winter imagery. American cards featured the birds people actually saw at feeders, perched on snow-laden branches, bright against winter skies. These cards created a secular holiday vocabulary, a way of marking the season that felt both celebratory and true to the world outside the window.

Nina was right. George had set out the feeders, with enough seed on hand to get through the cold months. He’d been to Jennie’s grave, and he’ll write back to Nina soon. Maybe visit Tucson. Maybe see a cardinal on a cactus.