In 1914, in the quiet town of Grangeville, Idaho, a curious story unfolded—equal parts heartwarming and astonishing. Four-year-old Charlotte May Pierstorff became, quite literally, a parcel of love. Her parents, looking for a practical way to get her to her grandmother’s house 73 miles away, found that mailing a child—so long as they weighed under the 50-pound limit—was technically allowed under the brand-new U.S. Parcel Post system. So, for just 32 cents in postage, with a stamp pinned to her coat and her weight just below the limit, little May boarded a train in the mail compartment.
This wasn’t neglect—it was trust. The postal system at that time was seen as efficient, reliable, and staffed by neighbors rather than strangers. May wasn’t stuffed in a crate or left forgotten on a shelf; she rode with the mailbags, safely watched over by a kind postal clerk who made sure she reached her grandmother’s arms without any trouble. It was a different era—a time when communities were tightly knit, and the line between government service and human kindness was blurred by familiarity and necessity.
Her journey became part of American folklore—a story told with equal parts humor and nostalgia. But it also spoke volumes about the era: the lengths families would go to stay connected, the creativity born from economic hardship, and the small-town trust that once filled the spaces between rules. Although the postal service soon changed its regulations to forbid the mailing of humans, Charlotte May’s story remained in the public imagination as a symbol of innocence, resourcefulness, and an America where the impossible still seemed possible.
Today, in a world of overnight shipping and digital distances, her tale reminds us that connection doesn’t always follow the most conventional path. Sometimes, love travels in the most surprising packages. “Where there’s trust and determination, even a little girl with a stamp can find her way home.”