About the only things I collect are turtles. Or, rather, inanimate representations of them. I don’t know exactly when it started, but I suspect it was when as a teenager I accidentally drove over a turtle and heard the crunch. Family and friends over the years have grabbed unique turtles for me when out of state and out of the country. I have wooden turtles, stone turtles, and turtles stuffed with foam or foam pellets. I have a multicolor turtle candle handmade by a girl I worked with in college.

My inclination toward collecting reptiles among the oldest on Earth led me to learn more about another hobby than I ever thought I could, and perhaps more than I should.

A co-worker familiar with my fondness for the cold-blooded, armored quadrupeds showed me a new sea turtle stamp sheet. It featured a beautifully rendered sea turtle, its shell a picture comprised of four stamps. There’s a different turtle on each, two in the ocean, two on the beach.

Until that day, all I knew about postage stamp art I learned from Frances McDormand’s husband in Fargo. He anxiously awaits a decision on the use of his duck painting for a U.S. stamp. I won’t spoil it for anybody who hasn’t seen the movie.

Thanks to that co-worker and a little independent Internet research, the shroud of mystery surrounding stamp collecting has begun to lift. My natural curiosity and desire to learn allow me to be fascinated by things some folks would find mind-numbingly boring. Some would call this being easily entertained, and say it as if it’s a bad thing. I’ve been discussing turtles and stamps, and you’re still here, so I’m seeing this one through to the end.

Where are post offices lucky enough to stock them? The self-governing French Territory of Wallis and Futuna Islands. The creator, Carole Murry, coincidentally was the artist for a stamp celebrating the statehood of my birthplace, Arkansas.

The practice of philately (ryhmes with “fnatalie”), or, stamp studying and collecting, is a niche interest with a high geek factor. Contributing to this are its own terminology, tools, and techniques.

Do you know what MNHOG signifies? It’s not a farm animal that says “Oh, ya, let’s go to Mall of America.” It means “mint, never hinged, original gum.” (Ooohhh, mint gum). Although MNHOG is desirable to many, there is a division here that apparently can cause rifts in the collectors’ groups. On the other side are those who value a canceled stamp — one that bears a telltale tattoo proving it has run its course. I’m pretty sure the time-space continuum will remain undisturbed if a winner is never declared.

Besides this age-old argument of new vs. used, there are other politics at play. Local chapters of stamp collecting societies see members battle for leadership positions while constantly searching for younger enthusiasts. One side wants an established member to lead, while the other thinks young blood would revitalize the group.

Who knew it could be so cutthroat?

Adding used stamps to one’s collection involves using a combination of soaking and careful handling with stamp tongs, not to be confused with common household tweezers.

Not up to soaking? Build your own stamp sweatbox. If the stamp doesn’t come off, then at least it’s been spiritually cleansed.

Now, I’m just waiting for actor/director Christopher Guest (Best in Show, A Mighty Wind, This is Spinal Tap) to read this and decide it’s time for another film.

I’ve never come close to having a hobby as complex as philately. When I was a kid, I collected pennies. My brother and I looked forward to raiding my grandparents’ basement penny jug. We found steel pennies made during World War II and handfuls of wheat pennies minted in Denver and Philadelphia. No, those aren’t pennies made of wheat. They have a depiction of wheat on the back.

The reporter in me is glad to know a stamphead (my word) because I learned something new. On another level I’m glad because I’ll have a sea turtle stamp from Wallis and Futuna, and you won’t.

Source not linked above:
Stamp Collecting HQ