“Family history is a natural trespasser, barging through the hedges that mark the fields of academic study.”
A bolstering read for those of us who indulge. An illuminating read, perhaps, for those who put up with us. ;)
The tooled leather volume resembles a family bible, ornamented by the addition of a bronze latch. The heavy cardstock pages are cut out in the middle allowing for two cabinet cards to be displayed, back to back. A thick gold line frames each photograph. Buckled into the Minor Album are twenty-eight portraits taken between 1860-1900.
JUST WHAT DO I HAVE HERE?
THIS is the title page. Gorgeous!! Right?
MEH. I want story. Story comes from details.
Let’s start with the known. The album was recovered by my mother from the attic of the farmhouse in which she grew up. In which her father grew up. In which her grandfather and his father grew up. From the attic of the Minor Home Farm on Ceylon Lane, purchased by John Pearson Minor circa 1830. Just who, then, might have purchased the album and slipped the cabinet cards into place?
She did it.
My mother’s father’s grandmother, Mary Jane Gwynne Minor.
Women of the Victorian era were associated with the collection of family memorabilia and its display; photograph albums were part of this creative work. Mary Jane was the woman of Ceylon Lane, the mom of the Minor Home Farm, during the period that this album was filled.
This hypothesis has been strengthened by my work comparing other labeled photographs in my collection with those that I am finding inside the album. I have identified several images as members of the Mary Jane and Francis Marion Minor Family.
My sleuthing adventures begin with this hypothesis–the cabinet cards of the Minor Family Album belonged to Mary Jane and Marion Minor, and represent members of their immediate and extended family.
Next post– Mr. Chin Whiskers is revealed.
Camera and binoculars bounce on my vest-padded chest as I leave footprints in week old snow. I am headed to the river, to watch the ice floes flow. Here at the bend, where West Pittston says hey to Pittston, the Susqhehanna is open, ice clinging in nooks and crannies. A dozen Buffleheads ride the current toward Wilkes-Barre. Common Merganser and Mallard pairs gather to preen or forage where the river meets beach. A lone Bufflehead floats mid-river, his glossy black-green head turning slowly right and left. Suddenly he tips tail to sky, and plunges beneath the icy water, with barely a ripple. I take slow, deep breaths, and smell what these birds know.
Spring is coming.
We have more mud than snow, more current than ice. Insects are hatching, snails are moving, mussles are available, fish swim closer to the surface. Life is on the move.
The ice is floe-ing on.
I had forgotten about this essay, written in another blogosphere, 2009. The memory tugs my mouth into a smile, so I pause in my ancestor tale-chasing to share a small moment of my own history.
We had been home from Ireland less than twenty-four hours. The dogs had been home from Uncle Jim’s Canine Retreat less than twelve hours. WHAT WAS I THINKING!?!
Like an atomic clock automatically reset to the correct time when it crosses a time zone, Luci sat in front of her food container. You can take the dog anywhere and she knows when its dinner and where the food will come from. I obligingly completed the routine, ”Say please.” All three dogs went down. I then scooped out the correct portions, (which Luci insists are inadequate), gave the release command “Food” and they scrambled to their appropriate bowls, woofing down the kibble in 30 seconds or less. Then I let my posse out for the post-prandial bathroom break. Like I said…..WHAT was I thinking?
Nonchalantly I returned to the matter of finishing our human dinner. Minutes passed before I glanced at the gathering dusk and thought “Maybe I better get the dogs in before it’s too dark, just in case Luci doesn’t remember the Invisible Fence Boundaries and we need to hunt. Hahahahahaha.” I stepped off the front porch whistling into crisp fall air. No dogs. I rounded the garage whistling around its corner and noted the sun slipping just below the Appalachian horizon. No dogs. I called “Cappy! Fly! Luci! COME!” and walked briskly toward the meadow. I chuckled at the sight of Cap and Fly, heads buried in the Lupine Patch, obviously enjoying some scat delicacy. I whistled again, and they hurled themselves toward me.
No Luci Freckles followed. I called “Luci!” again and continued to make a loop around the house. Step, call, step, call, step, call. Each step coming faster, each call rising in pitch. By the time I came full circle the neighbor German Shepherd had joined my call, and I figured that his was one less yard to search in. I stuck my head into the house shouting ”I need help finding Luci!” TD immediately exited the house, then the yard to search the neighborhood.
I kept calling “Luci!” at a steady, hollering pace, so that she could find her way home in the gathering twilight. WHAT was I thinking!? Just letting them out, collars on, no supervision, five months old, aftersupper. WHAT was I thinking?! I seized my highly reactive brain; plan,organize, harness the energy!!!!
Methodically I moved into the eastern side of the meadow, carefully calling and looking into neighbors’ yards to the left, then searching for movement among the thick patchwork of lupine, milkweed, four kinds of goldenrod, aspen saplings and grasses to my right.
Look left, call.
Look right, call. Goldenrod stalks stand tall, seed puffs glowing in the dimming light like the pup’s tail I wanted so desparately to see.
Look left, look right.
A rustle and shake of some fur caught my attention, pulling it down a now-dark meadow path. Hardly daring to hope that the missing caramel-colored pup could actually be just disobediently relaxing mid-meadow, I moved through the towering goldenrod. “Luci?” “LUCI!?” Amid the crunching of leaves I could hear the crunching of teeth on animal bone. ”Luci?” Lazily, she lifted her head from her rabbit meadow treasure and glanced at my distraught face. “Uh, yeah, Mom, I’m kinda busy here. Can I get back to you?” I slipped the leash on without another word, and Luci-once-was-lost-but-now-is-found reluctantly pranced up the path with me, Cappy and Fly.
As I walked her into the neighborhood to rendezvous with TD my senses were released. For the first time I noticed the sky was streaked with vermillion and cinnabar stripes, pulled west to east, where they disappeared into the eastern dusky gray. I took great drags of late autumn air spiced with fallen maple, walnut and oak leaves. The sky was streaked, not my face. My throat was full of gratitude, not sobs. And Luci remained oblivious to the search and rescue mission TD and I had launched.
My heart had barely decelerated than I received this email from ITD:
Dear Mom and Dad,
Glad to hear that you guys had a good time and are back safely. I look forward to seeing pictures, and sharing stories with you of your time over there. In recent news, I have decided to spend my funds to do this winter trip with AP . I am in the process of trying to get a new passport, and will be filling out paper work with AP to get a visa with the Syrian embassy. I sent you the itinerary for the trip.blah…blah….blah….I am budgeting 2500 ….my savings…blah…blah…blah…. Let me know if you have problems/concerns with what is going on.(Emphasis mine)……blah…blah…blah…. I have talked not only with AP, but with 5 other people who are from Egypt, Lebanon and Jordan blah…..blah……blah…….Get back to me on the ongoing discussion. Best Regards,
Seriously, my son signed this bombshell “best regards.”
There is a local bridge repair that requires one to enter the expressway with no ramp, from a stop; 0 mph to 50 mph in about 100 feet. ITD’s email required my heart to do the equivalent. If it would have been helpful to the cause to jump up, run around the house, through the meadow, and along rock outcrop paths, I would have. Such is my response. Instead, I tore through the US State Department web site, pressing copy and paste buttons until I had my first email response. I then went to bed.
I awoke with new clarity and initiated the day’s exchange with startling insights and careful ruminations. Pithy one sentence letters -$1000 over 21 days=$48/day- were followed by pithy one sentence affirmations -We are amazed by and proud of you! – and then I concluded my day’s assault by reminding him of already owned STA student travel cards, NEXT student insurance cards, and SIM phone cards. Planning and research; it’s what I do when running won’t yield results.
Having ITD travel into the very big world yanks my heart like Luci’s venturing to defy the recall whistle. I can crash through a field of six-foot high goldenrod stalks, dried in autumn sun to a crisp brown. I can find and drag Luci from the object of her rabbit-lust. I can’t very well crash through the tangle of ideas, skills, and ambitions I so carefully sowed throughout my son’s childhood. I can’t find and drag my son from the object of his wanderlust. Both Luci and my son challenge me to grab onto that calm-assertive energy, and become the person I need to be; so my son can become the person he needs to be.