Bonus: Grandma's photographs
Photographs are spread out on my kitchen table.
I study the oldest photograph, which shows my grandmother’s parents, Mamie and Hjalmer Nikunen, embracing next to a bush or small tree. The handwriting on the back is cursive and leans to the right. The date is marked across the bottom: May 18, 1919.
Many hands have touched this photograph, and the soft corners and the faded ink tell me this. How many eyes have scanned the details of the image throughout the decades since it was made of this brief, wonderful moment? Time has reshaped the photograph, but the connection with Mamie’s eyes as she looks towards the camera and the tenderness of the embrace remain.
The photo is weathered, a marker of time, but the moment is timeless.
My grandmother, Ruth Cobb, was a prolific photographer of her family and daily life. I know that other members of her family were also making pictures because Ruth is in some of the images. Still, my understanding is that she was deeply passionate about photography.
The consistent and diligent documentation of her life offers a trail into my family’s past and provides clues to its story.
“We’re all searching for a piece of home, or a piece of ourselves,” Michelle Zauner writes in her memoir, “Crying in H Mart.”
Zauner is correct, and finding these pieces is possible through avenues of memory, whether it is our own or others.
For me, the images my grandmother made are pieces of who I am.
They are images of my father being held by his father or, years later when he is mowing around a tree at Pioneer Lake with one of his Newfoundlands watches as he works.
Seeing and holding these images, which showcase daily experiences, peels back years and connects memories of the past with my present self. The photographs remind me of the stories my father told me.
In the Photoshelter blog post “The Tangibility of Memories: Exploring Life, Loss and Family Through Photography,” Caitlyn Edwards writes that “photos whisper clues.”
The clues offer insight into the lives of those who came before us and evidence of what may have shaped us.
David Bate, a professor of photography at the University of Westminster, cites photography’s use as a mnemonic device for memory. Photographs help us remember a specific moment. We can expand these moments with memory and begin to connect other stories, details, and memories.
For my grandmother’s images, the focus of her photography is broad: landscapes of the Iron Range posed portraits of siblings or relatives, and moments of daily life. This spectrum of topics offers a robust narrative of a place and time. Her photographic vision to capture the subtle and the off-moments brings the viewer deeper into the personal observations of my grandmother.
Moments in these photographs offer insights into my grandmother's intentionality. The connections within her family. The locations that had meaning.
Like today, the images are not full of hardships. The difficulties that my grandmother faced are not prevalent in the images. Like now, photography can be curated to remove clues about what might have been a difficult or painful experience. We are able to view the highlight reel of our ancestors' past, but we may not be able to know all of their struggles through these images.
Even without this completeness, I value following the trail of visual clues in these images. To see my father being held by his father showcases how our family's story connects to our chapter. In this connection of generations, we can find clues about our identity.
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