Photos and more

By Holly

It happens occasionally. I'll be having a conversation with someone, and they'll begin talking about cleaning out a friend or family member's home either in preparation for a move or after the person's death. "I threw away *tons* of really old photos," they say. "I didn't know who any of those people even were! Who would ever want them?" I would. Most of my photos from the last 20 years exist only digitally. They are safely backed up in at least two digital realms, and the links have been shared with others who might want them. I have only a few photo albums on the shelf anymore. I have a larger collection of old photos and the long-ago moments they represent. Only they aren't from my family or of people I'm connected to. They're the photos and albums I've rescued from thrift shops, antique stores, online auctions, and people who would have thrown them away had I not offered to take them. I absolutely love old photographs. I consider "old" to be anything prior to my lifetime--not just because I am not old, but because I find those photos from the pre-color era the most beautiful. I find beauty in the naively yet artfully composed black-and-white snapshots--though another dimension of their loveliness is the tone of the not-very-black and the not-so-white. More wonderful than the images might be that representation of one single moment in time. There aren't multiple snapshots of the same moment to curate later. The snapshots show people in an environment, not simply people in front of the most attractive backdrop. There are no selfies. And often, there is no indication of who the subjects are or why that moment was important.

I love old photographs, and I hate the thought of someone else's memories being thoughtlessly thrown away. Another photo album of unknowns was surrendered to me recently. There are a few labeled pages. "Cousins in Sweden" from the late 1920s. "Ruth's Slumber Party - Aug 1 1931." "Easter Sunday 4-1-34." There are some single photos with labels, and others that are completely unmarked.

Man and chicken, 1930s

This photo has no notation. No explanation. It was taken about 90 years ago, and for a purpose worthy of the cost of the Depression-era film. Just a man and a chicken and a moment that someone wanted to hold on to. That's reason enough for me to hold on to it. I pretend like I don't know where my collection of antique photos will go after I am done with them. However, I do know. I'm very likely the last person who will see and appreciate these flashes of time that once belonged to someone else. One day, someone will be the last person to pick up these salvaged photos as well as the few photo albums of mine that now sit on my shelf. I hope that person will turn the pages of my memories one more time, before thoughtfully throwing them away.