The handwriting on the back is cursive and leans to the right. I believe this is my grandmother’s handwriting. Many hands have touched this photograph. The soft corners and the faded ink tell me this. I wonder, how many eyes have scanned the details of the image throughout the decades since the image was made of this brief, wonderful moment? Time has reshaped the photograph, but the connection with Mamie’s eyes as she looks towards the camera and the tenderness of the embrace remains.

My grandmother, Ruth Cobb, was a prolific photographer of her family and daily life. I know that other members of her family were also making pictures because Ruth is in some of the images, but my understanding is that she was deeply passionate about photography. This consistent and diligent documentation of her life offers a trail into my family’s past. It offers clues to my family’s story.

“We’re all searching for a piece of home, or a piece of ourselves,” Michelle Zauner writes in her memoir, “Crying in H Mart.” I believe Zauner is correct and finding these pieces is possible through avenues of memory, whether it is our own or others.

For me, the images my grandmother made are pieces of who I am. In the literal sense, images of my father being held by his father, or, years later, my dad mowing around a tree at Pioneer Lake with one of his Newfoundlands watching as he works. Seeing and holding these daily experiences in stagnant images peel back years and connect memories of the past with my present self. It reminds me of the stories my father told me and the small trophies from the competitions that sat on his desk.

In the Photoshelter blog post “The Tangibility of Memories: Exploring Life, Loss and Family Through Photography,” Caitlyn Edwards writes that “photos whisper clues.” The clues offer insight into what life was like for those who came before us and evidence of what may have shaped us. These clues also may come as our own interpretation of what those within the photograph may have felt about our current lives.

David Bate, a professor of photography at the University of Westminster, cites photography’s use as a mnemonic device for memory. Photographs help us remember a specific moment. We can expand these moments with memory and begin to connect other stories, details, and memories.

For my grandmother’s images, the focus of her photography is broad: landscapes of the Iron Range, posed portraits of siblings or relatives, and moments of daily life. This spectrum of topics offers a robust narrative of a place and time. Her photographic vision to capture the subtle and the off-moments brings the viewer deeper into the personal observations of my grandmother.

Moments in these photographs offer insights into the intentionality of my grandmother. The connections within her family. The locations that had meaning. However, like today, the images are not full of hardships. The difficulties that my grandmother faced are not prevalent in the images. Like now, photography can be curated to remove clues of what might have been a difficult or painful experience. We are able to view the highlight reel of our ancestors' past, but we may not be able to know all of their struggles through these images.

Even without this completeness, I find value in following the trail of visual clues that are offered in these images. To see my father being held by his own father showcases how our family's story connects to our own chapter, and in this connection of generations, we can find clues of our identity.