A couple of years before my Mom passed away, she and I spent some time rummaging through her old photographs. She'd lost a lot of them when we lived in Florida; despite the fact that she'd wintered there as a girl, she was unaware of the voracious and wide-ranging appetite of Florida cockroaches—especially as regards to paper. They literally ate hundreds of her precious photos before she discovered the damage. We were able to preserve some.

Nevertherless, it took me a long time to piece the stories and facts together, especially since Mom hoarded the photos (and some of the facts). My sister is still discovering odds and ends of Mom's things among her boxes and trunks. Paper photos and correspondence, as we've learned, don't last. Digitizations of them may last longer, with consistent backups and care. The stories behind the photos are even more tenuous. Unless told, they can be forgotten or obliterated. That's why I'm trying to get the stories I can remember written down, and why I'm trying to write down my own.

Since then I've scanned prints, removed spots, and digitally reduced the graininess of these old photos.

I've divided the photos into several pages: Mom's ancestors, childhood, marriage, and motherhood.