An elegiac portrait of a vanishing phenomenon: a country post office that serves as community center for old men, old dogs, or young mothers, with a gentle postmaster who's as likely to help sew on a button as sell a stamp. In the end, without discussion, an inspector closes the place: too small. Shulevitz's masterly watercolors—faceted, Braque-like, in glowing blues and browns—are full of warmth and the tension of implied drama; his affectionate descriptions of Toddlecreek's citizens are imbued with a sad, wry humor. A beautiful book that makes a quiet but telling plea for little things of value, always at risk from the juggernaut of progress.