Thoughts about this week’s column swirled around a number of happenings: realizing it’s Mother’s Day weekend, a visit to my parents’ former summer home to plan work projects, seeing my mother’s wedding gown buried under a collection of needlepoint pieces in a cedar chest, and relaxing with a magazine that seemed to tie a number of disparate themes together.
The magazine was given to me by a friend. I was struck by the editor’s characterization that what appeared to be a disjointed collection of stories was actually a group of love stories. Each showed a common theme of deep attachment to place, and a passion to pursue what brings meaning and joy to one’s life.
The stories ranged from a library archivist being notified of the impending destruction of decades worth of newspaper pictures due to a scheduled building demolition, to a woman collecting hankies, to a son of poor immigrants turned presidential inauguration poet and his successful search for home and identity.
The combination of stories resonated. Now owning my parents’ summer home on Lake Huron, I feel palpable joy every time I come up the drive and see the sparkling water. It’s not only the beauty, but also the significant connection to family history that brings me peace. With the house came a trove of old pictures, letters and assorted memorabilia. And of course, the wedding dress.
All other clothes found their way elsewhere, but not the dress. Mother was born in 1920. She graduated ahead of her class, and had been working a couple years when she married my father at age 19. They were married just shy of 66 years. The dress is a touchstone to a younger mother I never knew.
Now, the magazine article on hankies just made me smile. As a little girl I was given cute, embroidered hankies to put in my pocket for use at a moment’s notice. I learned to iron on them.
As I’ve uncluttered and cleaned things over the years from move to move, I’ve hung on to the hankies. Finding camaraderie with the woman in the article, I find they provide tangible touch to a bygone era and bring pleasure.
I think the magazine story of the archivist was the most inspiring. We all have old pictures, wonder if anyone really wants them, and sometimes think to just let them go. Even the archivist was daunted by the task of organizing.
Taking on the task, however, he found unexpected joy in the stewardship, and it morphed into a community project. Volunteers were recruited. He found the frozen moments in the lives of places and people were meaningful. Images ignite emotional and detailed memories.
Older volunteers to his project would add stories around the photos and younger people would ask questions. Anecdotes faded and blurred by time were suddenly sharpened. A sense of community history and connectivity was reborn.
We all have touches to history to share. I realized recently newer neighbors of mine didn’t know the colorful history of the neighborhood. It spurred me to find the written and pictorial pieces I have to share with them, growing the sense of connectedness and community.
As for the varied treasure troves of pictures we all have, they can be daunting for those like me who aren’t archivists. That said, they are indeed valuable. Be it family or community history, there are numerous suggestions for how to organize, involving others or not.
Check out familytreemagazine.com for a host of ideas, including three family book ideas and how to create them. Google away – you’ll find a lot.
I’m inspired – though I’ll probably just hang on to a certain wedding dress and think of mom.
Happy Mother’s Day!