Last December as I gathered the old photos for my Christmas post, Big Christmas Trees From Logging Country at my group blog, Inkwell Inspirations, I came to a realization I should have figured out long ago... my love of photography comes from my mother. You may laugh at my surprise, but truly I've always thought my mother and I came from different planets.
Although I was born in a hospital in a Northern Ontario gold mining town, we lived at a logging camp out in the bush near Stevens, Ontario. I still have an old flour sack laundry bag with Camp #5 stencilled in black in across the top. I don't remember much about living there except that we lived near a cliff with a lake full of floating logs below the camp. And I remember the Christmases when Mom set out bowls of nuts and candy, and we put glass pine cones and metal icicles on the tree.
Now do you see what I mean about Mom taking pictures? I never knew how many rolls of film she went through until I visited her last summer and took photos of her pictures so I could preserve them digitally. All I can say is thank you, Mom, for allowing me to see my past.
I also have my mom to thank for my stocking. Do you remember the stocking with my name on it from the above photos? Well, I still have it. Not only do I still have mine, but I made a green one for Nelson when we got married, and followed the tradition with the kids.
A couple years ago, when my stocking turned 50, we decided to retire all the homemade ones. Now, they hang on one side of our hall as reminders of Christmases past...
Thank you for taking this old Christmas journey with me whether you read the text or only looked at the photos.
Now look at your own photo of a past Christmas. What do you remember about it? The gifts? The location? The people? Do you remember how you felt as you waited for the 'click' of the camera?