Many of my father’s pictures make logical sense to me. I know that he loved being outdoors. His love of the world outside, began long before he met my mother. His childhood was spent outdoors. But the thing now that impresses me the most, not knowing my father you a feel his love of the outdoors in the pictures that he left. Many of these pictures were only seen by my father, sometimes my mother, sometimes myself and my sisters. But seldom as many people as will see them now, after I post them and 2nd person views them. Some of these images never shared with anyone until they are scanned and now shared with the world.
The editor within each of prohibits us from freely sharing. Don’t put that online its upside down. Don’t share that picture of me; I look horrible in that picture. Don’t, don’t don’t don’t the list goes on beyond the end of the world falling off at the flat edge (I am truly kidding). In many cases, these pictures are 50 years old. Some are older than that. The light captured on the reflective film now 50 light years or more away from us. The moment capture, the instant the light then bouncing off mother Gaia to fling itself out into space and pass Voyager, about 20 years before it was launched. Well ahead in the footrace the reality of light as it travels faster than the eye can comprehend.
I am part of the image, the first one — the essence of the little person in that picture consumed by the adult that lives as me now. The other pictures are moments. Scenery until you get to dogs, puppies, and goats. For the most part, the moments in the images don’t resonate with what I know. But what I know isn’t always a fact, it is as my mother says “,my memory.” The reverse is also true; it is the memories of others. The moments captured, however, those belonged to my father. It is that connection that I write towards. I seek that missing piece of information forever. So many of the slides were shared, but the many in the case of 30,000 were 2000 or possibly 3000. 1 in 10 share, 9 of 10 kept because they were not good enough to hare with others.
In each picture shared a story. But in each picture kept quiet, the story is lost with the person.