Say Cheese!
Mom’s trusty Brownie captured special moments in the life of this farm family
Mom loved her box camera and kept it handy to capture special memories. I knew this by the tower of photo albums filled with black-and-white pictures Mom had in my parents’ bedroom, stacked high beside her waterfall cedar chest. Today’s subject was of us three youngest siblings: Susan, Bob and me.
I had just turned six that late June, so I’d be starting school in the fall. I had received a red, square, tin lunch box for my birthday and I could hardly wait to fill it with Mom’s homemade cookies and breads for my school lunch. She always had something yummy in the cake drawer.
It was 1960, a warm summer’s day on our central Alberta family farm. A slight breeze was blowing, and I could smell freshly cut hay. Dad was on his tractor, working hard in the field near the house. I waved to him. My three older siblings were in school, almost finished for the year, and we three were home playing and helping Mom in her garden—or at least we thought we were.
It was a blue-sky day, so Mom coaxed us kids to sit on the sunny bank along the house for one of her photo shoots. The quack grass was dry yet still green, and a bit long throughout the rocky slope.
Mom preferred our hair cut short, easier to tend to with six kids, so I had my simple home-cut bob with short, crooked bangs (I could never sit still), wearing my newest then-favourite striped pedal-pushers, a white sleeveless cotton top with a nifty frill over the shoulders, and no shoes. I never liked wearing shoes. I was brown as a berry and my chubby cheeks seemed to squint along with my eyes in the brilliant sunshine, sitting without a care on a rock, impatiently waiting for Mom to say “Cheese” at just the right moment we might all be sitting still to smile for the camera.
My robin’s egg blue bike lay on the bank behind me and was right where Mom got me to “stop for just a minute.” Dad had bought my bike at the local auction mart for $5. I was so proud of my bike. It would take me as fast as the wind could blow, me and my pedal-pushers and my bare feet.
Little 11/2-year-old brother Bob sat in the middle—dressed in his recent brush cut, brown corduroy coveralls, striped T-shirt and laced runners, obliviously sucking his thumb and unfazed by what was going on.
Susan, my youngest sister, soon turning four, sat cutely smiling for Mom and the camera. We sported similar haircuts and squints, and she loved to wear dresses. She had bare feet, just like her big sister. However, she was a little lady; I often was not.
Then I heard “Cheese” (I smiled), and finally the click of the camera’s shutter sounded.
Mom said, “Okay, kids, go and play.” So off I went, as fast as I could go on my bike.
The farm kept many adventures waiting for me to discover. Maybe today, I thought, I’ll ride my bike to the slough and catch a fat frog! n