I hesitated about posting the photo below in my last post, because it shows one of my sisters in “not her finest hour.”
We had gone for a walk – it might have been to Sunday School, judging by my mother’s suit and hat – and on the way home, my father probably suggested a family photo. We sat on the grass, ready to smile, but my sister never liked having her picture taken. My brother was laughing at the fuss she was making. It was a fairly common occurrence as she went through the Terrible Twos. For us it was, “There she goes again,” and I’m sure my mom had just said something funny to try to jolly her out of her mood.
The other part I love about this picture is how I have my arms around the youngest sister. I’ve always felt very protective of her, maybe because she was always the youngest. You can’t change your ranking in the family. I was the oldest; she was the youngest.
The old homestead (not ours) on the top of the hill was like a landmark in the days before the roads were put in. Our house was two blocks farther on, behind the old one. For years, the field in this picture had a path through it to the downtown area. Later, as more houses went up, roads were built and that beautiful field and path were no more.
Here she is again, making a fuss about getting her picture taken. You can see my mother’s arms trying to make her sit for the photo.
But it wasn’t always bad. This day when she was going to be in the Fall Fair Parade, she was happy enough to have her picture taken. I think she should always have smiled for the camera. She takes a good picture.