HOLY THINGS...

This is another special photograph belonging to me that somehow managed to survive moisture, curious children, decluttering, and decades of time. It seems almost miraculous to me now when I gaze at this photo of a grandmother I never met. She appears quite elegant and poised at the well. Could she ever have imagined it would one day fall into a future granddaughter's hands?

I have no idea if this well where she stands was her own or belonged to someone else. She appears to be a bit dressed up with her pumps and skirt. Over the years I have wondered what was going on that day when she went to this well. Who was with her? Why did someone decide a photo should be taken of this trip to get water? Was there a celebration taking place and more water was required?

This grandmother in the photo died when I was a baby. My Mama once told me that Callie (my paternal grandmother's name) called me Apple Cheeks, because of the rosy color of my cheeks. When I gaze at this photo, I marvel with great sadness that I have no memories of this lady. I can't recall her face or voice. She died when I was about six months old. That death prevented any memories for me of her.

I am glad she got to meet me. I am delighted she got to hold me and give me a nickname. I wonder so much though about her. I wonder if she ever sang to me. I wonder if she rocked me to sleep. I wonder if she knew she had not much time left. Someone once told me when I was quite young, "She was a grand lady!" In this photo, I see indeed that she was a "Grand Lady." She exudes poise, confidence, and strength. 

Photographs of people have a way of transporting us. They take us to another place and time. We curiously analyze the event, the people, or the place. On the other hand, some photographs are images of someone we feel we should know, but don't. There is an almost haunting nature to searching an old photo of one who came before you, then with a whisper in time vanished. There are so many questions, and the answers are elusive at best.

When I study an old photo, I am drawn into questions about yesterday. The clothing style is different from anything I have ever worn. The black and white images cause me to speculate about what colors the person wore. I marvel at hairstyles that shout fashion statements not recognized today. In this photo of my grandmother Callie, I wonder about a family resemblance. Where is she in me now? I can't claim to look like her much. Perhaps she is tall like me. She stands at attention, and I have been known to do that.

In a similar manner, the background in older photos stabs at my curiosity. Settings in photographs reflect beauty, architecture, or events. This photo of my Grandmother Callie is a small moment of a trip to a well. I ask myself, "Who needed water?" Perhaps she was with a friend, and they just wanted to steal away to a quiet location. Was she with a fella?  Someone else went to the well with my grandmother, hence the photo now resting in my hand. I am holding a memory.

I wish there had been more time for memories. Had she lived five or six years longer she could have helped me with my homework. Could her math have been better than mine?  Maybe she would have braided my hair. Or, she might have soothed me when I had a cold.  Perhaps we would have picked wildflowers in the mountains. Doing this as a child I always felt someone was missing. Maybe she loved flowers just like me.

But I'll never know. All I can do is study this photo of a small moment of my grandmother at a well. It is a holy thing!