Naming things is an endlessly fascinating and complicated way of creating and better understanding our relationships with them. Different cultures have even devised quite distinct ways of classifying and identifying the kinships within them, to the extent that families and relations in the different cultures affect the very ways people interact and consider themselves connected, responsible for each other, and much more.
One of the appealing (or appalling) quirks, depending upon one’s view, of the American traditions of familial identification and the names given them in English is the way we use the word Great to specify layers of distance from ourselves. This photo, for example, is of one of my sets of great- and/or great-great grandparents (my maternal grandfather’s forebears), if I am not mistaken, and there is much to pique my curiosity in this image.
First, of course, is the question of whether I have identified them correctly at all. But then, in what ways—besides the nominal—were they great? Clearly, being among my ancestors is an easy in to that category. [Ba-dum-tsssssssshhhhhh!]*
Seriously, though, what distinguished these people? Safe to assume, from what little I do know of my relatives in Norway, these two lived on a small farm, and they worked hard. I mean, incredibly hard, by my standards. I’m inclined, actually, to think that the gent is my great grandpa and the lady next to him is his mummified mum, but having seen many a portrait from that era whose subject I was shocked to discover was eons younger than I’d have imagined, I can’t be sure. If this is a couple, I am extra, extra glad I have such a lazy and comfortable life. I may be no spring chicken, but I like to think that people will be able to tell whether or not I’ve already died, and when it does occur, won’t be able to make work boots out of my hide without tanning it further.
This could be the great-grandfather who was a tinsmith. A pretty skilled one, at that. The hands I see here could easily be tough enough to have put metal in its place. As for the farming, what little I’ve gleaned [enough with the shtick! I’ll try to behave myself]* from the various family stories and photos indicates that my family were subsistence farmers, growing what produce would feed their own households or be swapped with neighbors for further goods, and raising enough sheep and goats, chickens and cattle to keep them in meat, eggs, hides and bones as needed. Agrarian life, until more recent decades, was generally a far more solitary and jack of all trades kind of existence. My grandmothers, great and otherwise (and I can only assume all of the neighbor women of this ancestress’ approximate vintage) did such work as probably made them all look equally leathery.
I would like to think that the sober, if not condemnatory, expressions in the photo sprang from the typical problem of holding still for the interminable exposure time a photograph required in those days, not to mention doing so while squinting in the sunlight. But I also suspect that a combination of that hardscrabble life of theirs and the grimly perdition-obsessed brand of religion to which many of my relatives have subscribed means that these two generally took life mighty seriously as well. They probably didn’t see so much to joke about or room for fun and games in their daily lives.
What I can safely assume about my relatives still gives me some hope. Obviously, they knew enough about how to survive and yes, thankfully, to procreate, that I am here generations later to tell the tale. I consider my existence a fine thing. Although they weren’t either wealthy or showy, they are dressed in well made, tidily kept clothing and lo, my mustachioed male relative even sports a watch chain, so theirs was not, even from the perspective of my privileged and cushy life, a torturous life of pure privation. So I don’t feel enormous existential guilt for their suffering. But I’m not inclined that way like they might have been, anyhow.
My late Norwegian relatives lived and labored in a landscape and climate rather like where I grew up in the American northwest, so I know that even if their daily work was hard they did it surrounded by beauty and nurtured in a mostly benevolent natural environment. They raised children who were able to go out in turn into the wider world and make their ways, eventually finding own their paths, making their own livings, and raising their own families, and eventually crossing many mountains, borders, and seas. I think all of this a fine, if modest, sampler of human existence with [dang it, I just can’t help it!]* relatively little grand tragedy or overblown drama. Most of all, I am glad that the long-gone beings who posed for this rather inscrutable image contributed to the production of a line of pretty good folk, culminating in my immediate family. That’s greatness enough for me, and makes me very thankful indeed. Happy Thanksgiving, my friends.
I really enjoyed this read….and what an incredible picture. It’s the hands that fascinate me….they speak of such hard work and a life that most of us to day can only imagine. You are so right to say that as hard as their existence might have been, it was probably within the glorious landscape of Norway….and the food they ate would have been fresh out of the ground, etc…..and so a real back to basics life. Where they great? Yes, I think they were….in that they survived and as you say produced a good line of followers, including you:)
Thank you and have a lovely weekend. :)xxx
Very sweet, my dear Janet! May your weekend be a real gem. 😀
What a fantastic photo that really does speak volumes about their lives. They were probably petrified of the camera! A lovely post. Px
Wow, talk about genetic influences. I fear having my picture taken, too! 😉 Not as much as I used to, though. 🙂 Certainly an interesting couple, and a fascinating portrait. So many stories not yet told…
Amazing these old pics! A mummified mum haha.
There’s a universe in every old photo, isn’t there.
Lucky you to have photos of family that far back. I never knew what my grandparents looked like. They remained in China and died. My parents each immigrated in 1950’s. Photo taking wasn’t a top priority ..not amongst civil war, march of the Communists into China, etc. at that time.
No, indeed. I imagine your parents felt fortunate to get out of China at all, but what a pity that so much remained behind without their being able to share it with you. I’m amazed that we have this photo as well, since I know that part of the family can’t have had much in the way of money or modern conveniences like a camera. On the other hand, I was *very* privileged, not only because I grew up comfortable and loved but because I knew all four of my grandparents, and three of them lived until I was an adult. Pretty rare gift. 🙂
Best to you,
I’m sure they worked very hard by anyone’s standards! And, they did well if you are part their legacy:)
So sweet of you. 🙂 I can’t help but think there’s little that’s harder work than farming, and that’s *not* just because I so dislike getting up early!! 😀