Re-Viewing the Past: Wordless Wednesday

Stuck between some sheet music bearing my grandfather’s signature was a photograph.  A faded copy of a copy, it depicted a mid-19th century cane-carrying gentleman astride a large dapple gray horse.  Establishing provenance of the photograph is almost impossible, but the copy appears to have been among Donald Minor’s possessions, which were then stored by my mother, Marilyn Minor Strickland, and inherited by me.

When first discovered, I posited that this commanding figure was a Minor.(read my first post here)

Found among the sheet music of Donald Minor, this photograph bears no identification, of the rider or the photographer.  From the Marilyn Minor Strickland Collection, 2014.

Found among the sheet music of Donald Minor, this photograph bears no identification, of the rider or the photographer. From the Marilyn Minor Strickland Collection, 2014.

Since that summer day, I have been in communication with two Minor cousins, and was lucky enough to score a new photograph.  This time provenance is known. The original photograph of John Pearson (Pierson) Minor was taken by J. P. Shafer of Morgantown, West Virginia,  held by his son, Samuel, in Greene County, Pennsylvania, and then passed down through that family to my cousin, Ron.

Tin Type of John Pearson Minor, J. P. Shafer of Morgantown, West Virginia, photographer.

John Pearson Minor, J. P. Shafer of Morgantown, West Virginia, photographer; from the Ronald Minor Collection, 2014. 

The figure on the horse bears a striking resemblance to the man calmly sitting for his portrait.  My investigation into my mystery horseman will require additional knowledge of period clothing and hairstyles.  I also think the cane may hold a clue about his identity.  But I am stepping lightly toward identifying the rider as one John P. Minor, circa 1860.

Story by Story

“Do you have any photographs of you, as a kid?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised by what I have,” said my mother.

Indeed.

I inherited fourteen assorted boxes and two trunks of photographs, documents, and special items at my mother’s death.  As I unpacked each one, layer by layer, and recorded its contents, I was swept by regrets and wistful desires.  So many stories, seen too late! Why didn’t she share her doll cradle?  Or show me her baby books?  What tales did she learn on her Aunt Anna’s lap?

I have finally completed this preliminary inventory, and have begun brainstorming a list of archival supplies that I will need to conserve this collection.  And I have shed the regrets for stories lost.  I have enough ingenuity and curiosity to play family detective, as well as, family curator.

First up, the cradle.  Wait and see what I do with that eight inch wicker cradle, Mother.  Its story will be discovered, bit by bit.  The Minor family history will get told, story by story. Image