I'm a vintage postcard collector. What started as curiosity about a few old cards turned into a habit of spending hours with a magnifying glass, a scanner and a stack of postcards, working out where each one came from and when.
This site is my own small operation. There's no company and no team behind it, just me. I buy the cards, sort them, research them, scan them, write the descriptions and pack the orders. When you have a question about a card, I'm the person who answers it.
What I love about old postcards
For a few cents, a postcard publisher a hundred years ago would print a picture of almost anything: a main street, a mill, a depot, a new high school, the town's first automobile garage. Those pictures went into albums, shoeboxes and attics, and many of them are now the only record of what those places looked like.
I'm drawn most to the ordinary views. Postcards of famous landmarks were printed by the million. Small towns often got a single printing for the local drugstore, or a handful of real photo cards made by a traveling photographer. When one of those turns up, it can be the only surviving photograph of a building, a business or a whole street.
I love the backs just as much. A penny stamp, a smudged postmark and a few lines of pencil can tell you more about everyday life than a history book: the weather, the harvest, a new baby, a train that ran late, a hotel that served bad coffee.
How I work
I research every card. Each card I list is dated from the evidence printed on it: the back design, the stamp box on a real photo, the publisher's code, the postage rate and the postmark. My notes on how to date an old postcard explain the method.
I describe flaws plainly. Corner wear, creases, album marks, toning, writing on the front. If a card has a problem, the description says so, and the scan shows it. A card should be exactly what you expected when it arrives.
I scan front and back. Every card gets both sides scanned flat, large enough to read the postmark and the message. For real photo postcards I scan at higher resolution, so you can zoom into the street and read the signs.
I transcribe the messages. Where the handwriting is legible, I type out what the sender wrote. Those few lines belong with the card.
I pack carefully. Each card goes into a protective sleeve, then a rigid holder, then a stiff mailer, so it reaches you in the same condition it left me.
I keep a record. Every card gets a permanent page on this site, even after it sells. Over time this becomes a free, searchable picture archive of American towns, filed by state and town.
Why I started selling
Collecting means you end up with more cards than any one person needs, including many from places that mean nothing to you and everything to someone else. Selling the cards I don't keep is how they find the people who will treasure them: the family looking for their grandparents' farm, the researcher writing a town history, the collector who has been hunting for one specific depot for twenty years.
It also funds the next box. Every lot I buy holds surprises, and I'd rather pass the extra cards along than leave them in a drawer.
What you'll find here
- Collector's notes: what I've learned about dating postcards, identifying real photos and telling the eras apart.
- Where to buy: how my eBay listings are organized, and how to find cards from a particular town or topic.
- Card pages: once my first cards are listed, every one gets a page with both sides, its date and how I worked it out, the publisher, the condition and the message on the back.
How a card goes from a box to a listing
People sometimes ask what happens between buying a box of old postcards and a card showing up online. Here's the whole journey.
Sorting. A new box gets sorted by hand first. Real photo postcards, small-town views, early cards and unusual topics go into one pile. Ordinary views in good shape go into a second. Common scenic cards, duplicates and damaged cards go into a third. This first pass decides how much time each card gets.
Filing. Every card gets a home: a numbered archival box and a numbered slot inside it. That box-and-slot number becomes the card's item number. It's printed on the card's page here and in its listing, so when a card sells I can go straight to it on the shelf, and nothing gets lost or mixed up.
Scanning. Each card is scanned front and back, flat, on a flatbed scanner. Flatbeds never bend a card, which matters for old stock that can crack along a crease. Premium cards get a higher-resolution scan, so you can zoom into the street.
Research. This is the part I enjoy most. I date the card from the clues on it, identify the publisher or photographer, read the postmark and stamp, and transcribe the message. I use software to help me read faint postmarks and handwriting and to draft descriptions, but I check what goes into each listing, and when something can't be read or confirmed, the description says so.
Describing. The description covers what the card shows, when it dates from and how I know, who published it, whether it was mailed, and its condition, flaws first.
Listing. Premium cards get their own listing. Good cards from the same town or topic go into a "choose your card" listing. Common cards go into lots.
Shipping. When a card sells, it goes into a protective sleeve, then a rigid holder, then a stiff mailer, and out the door.
Things I won't do
A few rules I hold to, because they're what I'd want as a buyer:
- I won't sell a reproduction as an original. If I ever offer reproductions, they'll be labeled as such on the listing and on the card itself.
- I won't inflate a grade. If a card has a soft corner, it's described as having a soft corner, and it's in the scan.
- I won't use stock photos. The scans you see are of the exact card you'll receive.
- I won't guess and call it fact. An honest date range beats a confident wrong year.
- I won't trim, color or "improve" old cards. A card is sold as it is.
Who buys old postcards
When I started thinking about who wants these cards, the answer turned out to be almost everyone with a connection to a place. Family historians want the church where their great-grandparents married. People who moved away want the main street of the town where they grew up. Local historical societies want views of buildings that are gone. Collectors want particular publishers, real photo cards, or every card from one county. Crafters and junk journalers want beautiful old paper with handwriting on it. And gift buyers want a hometown card, framed, for someone who'll recognize the place instantly.
I try to describe cards so that each of those people can find what they're looking for. That's why every listing names the town, the state, the subject and the era, and why each card here is filed by place.
Why I scan both sides
A lot of old postcards are sold with a photo of the front only. I think that leaves out half the card. The back holds the publisher's name and code, the stamp and the postmark, the paper maker's mark on a real photo, and the message, which together tell you when the card was made, where it traveled and who held it. For a collector, the back can decide whether a card is worth buying at all. For a family historian, the back may be the whole reason to want it.
So every card I list gets both sides scanned, flat, at a size you can read. It takes longer, and it's worth it.
How I price cards
Postcard prices are all over the map, and it's fair to wonder how a seller arrives at a number. Here's how I do it.
Scarcity comes first. A clear real photo of a small town's main street, a depot with a train in it, or a business interior is scarce, and it's priced individually after I look at what comparable cards have actually sold for, not what sellers are asking.
Then condition. Within the same view, a clean card is worth more than a worn one. My grades and flaw descriptions are there so you can see exactly what you're paying for.
Common cards are priced simply. Views that were printed in large numbers, such as popular landmarks and scenic chromes, are priced by type and condition, and many go into "choose your card" listings or lots, where they're good value.
Prices aren't inflated to leave room for haggling. I'd rather list a card at a fair price than at an imaginary one.
A promise about honesty
Old postcards are full of uncertainty. Postmarks are faint, publishers are unnamed, and places go unidentified. When I'm sure, I'll tell you. When I'm not, I'll tell you that too, and show you the evidence so you can judge for yourself. I'd rather give an honest range ("c. 1910 to 1915") than a confident guess.
Thanks for stopping by
Whether you're a serious collector, a family historian, a junk journaler or just someone who likes old pictures, I'm glad you're here. Have a look around, read the collector's notes, and if you find a card from a place you love, I hope it ends up in your hands.