In an age of iPods, MySpace, and American Idol, consider this woman who grew up in the farmhouse where she was born, who was educated in a one-room schoolhouse, and who raised chickens and hens for a living until she was 28.

She does not reject the digital age; she has a computer complete with high-speed Internet. However she claims it is mostly for her granddaughter to use when she visits. The granddaughter even located Barney, a Bichon Frise, on the Internet.

Inside Velna’s house, several televisions run simultaneously. Dr. Phil advises in the kitchen, while soap operas drone on in the living room. The sound drowns out Barney’s yelp and the sound of the occasional passing car.

“I have it on for the noise, I guess you’d say,” Velna says.

A police scanner sits on the end table next to her couch in the living room. She pays close attention to the chatter and learns where the ambulance is headed before anyone else in Karbers Ridge. She has listened to the county sheriff rescue lost hikers from the Shawnee National Forest and knew her neighbor was getting pulled over for speeding before the deputy turned on the red lights.

Velna knits and crochets blankets and baby clothes, especially in the winter when she cannot be outside in her garden. Knitting is a family heritage that has been passed down through seven generations.

This is the house where Velna and her husband raised their family. The house is full of memories, some good, some bad – but Velna is okay with that.

Velna Ozee married Jessie T. “Tommy” Dobbs on May 16th, 1949 at 18. Tommy was about 15 years older than Velna.

“We’d known each other our whole lives,” Velna, said. “He was just in the neighborhood.”

Within a year of their wedding, Velna and Tommy were parents. They lived on a farm and spent each day together working side-by-side caring for the animals and crops. Velna recalls those days as her happiest.

Velna became the queen of the post office in zip code 62955 after she was appointed Postmaster of Karber Ridge in 1961. She still owns the post office building and rents it to the postal service.

Velna’s mailbox is #214. It is among a “nest” of 100 boxes that she purchased at auction in 1971 for $571. Everyone in the area comes to the post office to retrieve mail from a personal double combination “soaring eagle” mailbox built around the turn of the 20th century.

Made of brass and intricately designed, their current home, is a tiny building barely the size of a single car garage. Just a quarter of the boxes are in use and the mail is delivered daily by the rural mail carrier from the county seat 15 miles away. Velna knows which box belongs to whom. Velna enjoyed the responsibility and independence of her job. People would stop by just to talk with her - “even if they didn’t have any mail coming.”

A few years after Velna became postmistress and Tommy had begun to work in the mines, Tommy decided the farm was too much work for Velna and they bought their house “on the ridge.”

Their marriage ended abruptly on the day before Velna’s 37th birthday, March 14, 1968, when Tommy was killed in a fluorspar mining accident. He was the lone casualty of a careless mishap when a mine employee accidently released the lever that held the fluorspar in suspension above the mineshaft.

“He was my best friend,” she said, “We had done everything together.” Tommy had a vivacious personality. “The undertaker said his funeral was the biggest he’s ever seen on account of he was so well liked,” Velna said.

Tommy is buried in Leamington Cemetery. Velna visits Tommy’s grave at least once a month. The cemetery is set on a hill across the road from a one-room country church. Velna is familiar with the families laid to rest there and has a tale about each, from the woman who wanted to be cremated to the child who died in the cemetery where he was eventually buried.

Velna, shares these stories of death without sorrow. “God has a way of working things out for the best,” she said.

The home on the ridge is surrounded by flowerbeds of mums, moonflowers, angel trumpets, and marigolds that engulf her small house and have even been known to stop traffic.

Inside, there is furniture from the day she moved into the house, photographs of grandchildren, and numerous porcelain angel figurines. The living room is embellished with a thick, forest wallpaper. The computer sits alone in a corner, a 21st century visitor to a 19th century way of life.

Velna’s two sons, Deon, 58, and Dennis, 52, each lives alone, but only a few steps from their mother’s house. Both are retired, divorced and have young children. They spend most of their time with each other, watching TV talk shows, smoking cigarettes, and stirring-up gossip about Karbers Ridge.

Dennis is an avid collector. Every inch of his small house is filled with photographs, movie posters, collector’s items, and most significantly, Native American artifacts, from axe heads to French “trade pipe” to arrowheads. He’s running out of space to display any more artifacts, but one thing’s for sure – the Marilyn Monroe posters are not going anywhere.

The lone apple tree in Velna’s backyard provides more fruit than Velna can manage. As apples fill the tree, its branches sag from the weight and then one-by-one, they drop to the ground. That’s when the bees and hummingbirds get their chance to suck the sweet juice from the rotting fruit.

Velna also keeps a feeder full of sugar water for the hummingbirds on her back porch. She fills it two or three times a day for the masses of birds attracted to her yard by the apples and plethora of manicured flowerbeds. The hummingbirds scatter when the screen door opens, disappearing to the thick foliage of the apple tree. Velna said that when she is alone, the birds stay closer – they have learned to trust her.

Velna makes upwards of 40 pies in two days every October. They are thin, buttery creations with latticework tops and a dark brown, heavily-cinnamon filling of apples grown in the company of hummingbirds.

“I love to bake,” Velna said, “It’s nice to be able to feed hungry people.”