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Treasures of the Secret Drawer

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My 89 year old uncle lives at Elm Farm at the start of The Valley, and like six generations of the family simply calls it home. For us cousins "The Farm" has a special tie to both family and to prior generations. While returning photographs back to a dresser drawer - items I had borrowed during my last visit - Uncle Fred asked me to "look in the bottom drawer".

Grabbing knobs, clean socks were the only thing in sight.  "The one below that" he said knowingly.  Although this had been my bedroom for many childhood summers, mahogany trim was all I saw in the bureau frame. Uncle Fred knew of a secret drawer, narrow in height but wide and deep that my grandfather and great grandfather had used.

With no handle to indicate a drawer, I reached under the panel to pull it out - and as it slid towards me it revealed a collection of photographs. Taking the drawer out and placing it on the kitchen table we began to explore within the layers. Removing each picture, stories began to emerge.

Here before me were previously unknown photos.  Mostly identified by my grandfather in the 1950's, the pictures ranged from the 1840's to 1940's.  Examining the images - suddenly pictures of individuals who had only been names appeared.

A Christmas album mailed from a fifteen year old grandson documented his life in California was sent to his grandmother in Nova Scotia in 1906 and showed the village of Novato, which his father had named,  family life at home and in their village.  While perhaps a simple gift of a child, the date he wrote on his gift was important as his grandfather had just died and within weeks of receiving the gift his grandmother would also be dead.  As eldest son of the eldest son, he may have been acknowledging the passing of the patriarch of his clan.  This boy and and his sister were the only grandchildren that his grandmother would know despite having raised eight children herself. Thus the album of twenty pictures from a continent away must have been a precious gift for the grandmother to cherish in the final weeks of her life.  Peppered with tiny pictures of these two children among the formal pictures, they reminded me of stickers used to embellish a letter today.  

The gift showed honest affection of a child who never met his grandparents, who signs his gift, "with love wrapped in a kiss".  I was reminded that this loving child would die at age forty-eight and never hold any of his own grandchildren.  If these pictures speak to me of his character and life, perhaps they will also reveal something of value to his children and grandchildren. Documenting the life of pioneers in Novato a century ago, perhaps these images can tell stories that he never had the opportunity to share in person.

Underneath the album in the drawer appears the first image seen of the grandmother - a tintype with her image as sharp as the day it was taken.

While I clean and admire the images, I realize that the gift of the secret drawer arriving the week I turned fifty perhaps has some personal meaning for me too, as I admit that I have lived longer than the creator of the Novato album.  Perhaps the reason I teach family history courses and label photographs, is from personal awareness of the uncertainty inherent in our earthly lives. But this gift is more that identifying pictures or discovering people who lived in another time.

For years I have searched for family members and for family stories, carrying on the work my own father began.  Encouragement from others helps me continue.  Memories of those who lived before, gives me new strength - their stories waiting to be told.  I feel moved by how deeply they loved life and shared their joy, in their care for family, their faith and through the communities they built.

This gift feels like a present from those people. Perhaps it is a chance to learn lessons of the past.

In our daily journey, so often the weekly patterns numb us to the miracle of our existence. In the simple act of a child's gift there is kindness and caring and despite the passage of time, that simple motivation remains real. I give thanks for a gift which a century later feels fresh and new.

The creator of the album, a child named Alger Benedict Scott left a legacy in many ways and this year in reaching out I discovered his children, grandchildren and their families, I see the same kindness and caring, and I give thanks that I have come to know them.

These events draw me to write, to give voice to untold stories. Words must now convey, as inadequately as my skills are in crafting them. Slowly the unseen generations seem to lend me strength, entrusting their stories to be carried forward into the living realm.

The secret drawer has yielded its treasures and one by one to reveal lessons within.