A Table Full of Family

by Donna Cronk

I’m not talking about a holiday table where everyone talks at once, anticipating the turkey and dressing. The family members filling my dining room table of late came from afar: from not only the previous century but the one before that. 

They were around when horses and buggies were the only local public transportation. They butchered their own meat, raised their own chickens, and the ladies wore long-sleeved floor-length dresses daily as they canned food and stitched their family’s clothing.

And here they are, spread across my table in the form of old photographs. The fortunate ones have names and sometimes context written on their backs. These are helpful for seeing where the images fit on family tree branches, and in identifying other nameless photos.

For decades, these pictures have come to me in fits and spurts, myself the unofficial family archivist by both default and birth order whereby I’m the senior member of my original family. 

Despite all odds, so many in the generations before me have saved and passed on 130 years’ of photos. I imagine the storage spaces they’ve endured: closets and attics, under beds and in barns, inside drawers, stacked, and scattered, then handed off to merge with photos in boxes full of other ancestors. 

None of the pictures are preserved appropriately. Each would cause a historian to screech in horror, amazed that the surviving snaps are in good condition.

I work to organize these images by surnames, tucking them inside envelopes. A mistake has been creating micro-topical envelopes instead of adding those prints to a more general category.

But what will become of all this? Am I wasting my time? When I pass away, will descendants have any interest in these people? What does organizing all this matter if there’s no one to care about it in the future?

I had an epiphany.

What would happen if I could connect some of these photos with people living today who care about them? People who would love to have the photos I’m storing.

Hearing from a surprise relative

This year I heard from someone I didn’t know existed. He shares the surname of my paternal grandmother’s maiden name. My grandmother was the youngest of her several siblings and for all I knew, the last of them to live in Indiana.

The relative I heard from found me from a blog post where I mentioned his family name. He moved his family to Indiana from California and he is interested in his ancestry. These old photos to the rescue! I never dreamed that anyone would care about them but he loves it when I text him one after the other of them. This holiday season, we’re meeting for the first time in a library to chat about family history.

Now I’m on a personal quest to get photos in my collection to others who would be interested. What are the odds, you ask? Here are some examples.

I recently discovered a beautifully preserved 5x7 of my husband’s late uncle and his first wife. Theirs was a World War II marriage that didn’t last. But his next one did last, and his widow asked me once if I had any pictures of her late husband’s first bride. Recently, that photo emerged from the stacks, and I sent it to the delighted aunt.

I came across what may be the only known photograph of my mother with her parents and six siblings from the 1920s. I sent a digital copy with IDs to my two nieces, who were glad to get them.

There’s a 1966 snapshot of my late mother-in-law lifting a glass goblet from a box, the set a 25^th anniversary gift from her siblings. The glasses stand inside a high kitchen cabinet in my home. I’m convinced that most of those delicate rims have never touched human lips.

Next year will be my in-laws’ 85^th wedding anniversary while their youngest grandson Ben and his bride, Julie, will celebrate their first. If they want them, the set will be an heirloom gift to them, complete with the old photo.

There’s a 1950s picture of my Grandma Jobe with her Sunday school class. She instructed the large group of young adults, one of whom recently celebrated her 90^th birthday with a reception in that church. I mailed her the photo.

Old photos, new joy

I’m seeing new ways these old photos are delighting people in my sphere of influence. Maybe you can too. 

Here’s an idea. Soon you’ll sit around a family Christmas table with living, breathing loved ones descended from faces in old images. 

Once the big meal is over, spread out the photos and tell your relatives what you know about these pictures. Or remain quiet and let them ask what they want to know as they look through the images. The beauty of the moment is that those interested can take photos of these on their own cellphones to contemplate later as they wish. No longer is the burden on you to make physical copies for everyone who says, “Yeah, I’ll take a copy.”

But if you feel inclined you can make copies, send the originals, or photo duplicates in Christmas cards to those who would enjoy them. What a Christmas surprise!

The more copies out there with IDs, the better, insurance against the originals’ inevitable destruction. 

I predict the telling of family tales, both new and old will ensue, along with laughter and the warmth of family bonding among those who are destined—as am I, as are you—to become the ancestors rather than the descendants.

If it’s too much to think about this close to Christmas, I get it. Easter is coming.

Career newspaper journalist Donna Cronk is author of three books. She lives in Pendleton, Indiana and enjoys giving programs related to what to do with and how to enjoy family heirlooms. If your organization needs a speaker, contact her at newsgirl.1958@gmail.com. The programs are inspired by her book, available on Amazon, There’s a Clydesdale in the Attic: Reflections on Keeping and Letting Go. Married to Brian, they are parents of two adult sons and are active in their church.