In an age of instant replies and digital noise, it’s easy to forget that just a generation ago, communication came folded in an envelope — not fired off by a burst of thumbs.

A letter was more than information; it was a gesture, personal, tangible and enduring.

Here in Barry County, where the mailbox still matters and where the wind slows your steps long enough to ponder the past, maybe it’s time we return to that nearly forgotten ritual: letter writing.

The letter as literacy

At Crowder College, my students know that writing is not just a skill, but a muscle. And few exercises stretch that muscle quite like a letter.

The act of composing a letter, from choosing words deliberately to forming sentences that reflect tone and purpose, is a full-bodied literacy practice.

Unlike the reactive swiftness of a text or the polished detachment of an email, a handwritten letter builds spelling, vocabulary, sentence structure, and, most of all, reader awareness.

When we write a letter, we have to imagine the reader: their mood, their relationship to us, their needs. That kind of empathetic projection isn’t just good writing, it’s good citizenship.

Children especially benefit. Research shows that writing letters by hand activates areas of the brain tied to memory and reading fluency. And because there’s no spell check or autocorrect, the writer must take full ownership of the language, letter by letter, word by word. It’s slow work. And that’s part of the point.

The letter as relationships

Long before inboxes were cluttered or group chats buzzed with memes, people in Cassville and elsewhere relied on the mail not just for information, but for intimacy. Letters held relationships together across miles, seasons and silence.

Even today, a letter between friends or family members has a power that digital messages rarely match. A thank-you card in your mailbox signals something deeper than gratitude; it says, you were worth the time it took to write this. A condolence note, written in your own hand, says what no emoji can. It says, I was with you in that moment, even if I couldn’t be there in person.

And yes, I’m talking about notecards too, especially notecards. A few sentences of genuine encouragement or reflection, penned by hand and dropped in the mail, can be a small human act of respect.

The letter as civic expression

Cassville residents are no strangers to using their voices. Our community has a proud history of engaging local issues with civility and care. But as forums move online and tempers shorten, the letter, especially the Letter to the Editor, remains a space for thoughtful public dialogue.

And consider this: would Letter from a Birmingham Jail have carried the same moral gravity had it been a Facebook post? Unlikely. The letter, as a form, holds weight. It asks the writer to slow down, consider their words, and address the reader directly. It holds us accountable, both to our thoughts and to each other.

But isn’t letter writing… Dead?

Not dead. Just rare. And rarity, as any good poet or market vendor will tell you, enhances value.

We may call letter writing a “lost art,” but let’s not mistake it for an anachronism. An anachronism is something out of place, like a wristwatch in a Civil War movie. Letter writing today is more like sourdough bread baking or quilting: less common, more deliberate and rich with personal meaning.

There’s something rebellious about picking up a pen, folding a page, licking a stamp. It’s a quiet rejection of speed and forgettability. It’s a way of saying: This mattered enough to write it down.

Letters that last

There’s a reason people save letters in shoeboxes. They are emotional artifacts, scented with memory, heavy with context. A typed message may say “I miss you,” but a handwritten letter shows it, in the slant of the script, the ink smudge in the margin, the effort it took to get it from one hand to another.

One of my newer friends, a longtime Cassville resident, recently showed me a bundle of letters her father wrote from France in 1944. She’d read them dozens of times.

“Every time,” she said, “I find something new in his voice.”

Try saying that in a text message.

How to start writing letters again

1. Buy some notecards or paper you like. This isn’t stationery snobbery — it just helps you enjoy the act of writing.

2. Start small. Send one note this week: to thank someone, to check in on a neighbor, or to share something you’ve been thinking about.

3. Write like you talk, but slower. The beauty of a letter is its tone: thoughtful, personal, sincere. You don’t need flowery prose. Just say what you mean.

4. Mail it. Don’t save it for later. Walk it to your mailbox. Let the world do the rest.

Letter writing is not a return to the past; it’s a return to presence. It slows us down. It sharpens our thoughts. It connects us.

So go ahead. Put pen to paper. Your words, in your hand, might just be the most powerful message someone gets this week.

Terry Held is an English instructor at Crowder College, Cassville. The views expressed in this column are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views or positions of Crowder College. He would appreciate hearing what you think. He can be reached at TerryHeld@Crowder.edu.