At the Lake

Take a gentle breeze,
add warm sun, and a generous amount
of cool water. (fresh preferred)

Blend in a family.
Sprinkle with smiles.
Enjoy.

This snapshot was taken in the summer of 1935
at Lake Minnewaska in Glenwood, Minnesota.
On the left is my great-grandfather, William Dobbin,
with his second oldest son, my grandfather,
Wallace Dobbin, on the right.

In between is my grandmother, Blanche,
with my mother, Barbara Ione Dobbin.
Wally is 29. Blanche is 26
Barbara is age 4½.

Only a second later or maybe just before
my grandfather clowns around for the camera,
which I think was held by Alice,
my great-grandfather's second wife.

She clicks the shutter and magically captures
one of the best photos I know.

In an instant it's all there.
Delight, humor, affection, joy, pride.
In a word—love.

Though of course I was not present when these photos were taken, I know them very well from looking through the photos as a child and hearing my mother and grandparents tell the stories that accompanied them. My mother was a single child, as I am as well, and this was one of the first photos where I learned the nature of time and photography. How could my mother be that little girl? Why were my grandparents so young? Because in a photograph, time stops.

In their smiles I soon recognized the grandparents and mother that I knew. Even William, who died years before I was born, I learned to know from his beaming Irish eyes in the photo albums my grandmother saved. These lessons of time and photography continued with my father's family photo albums. They seemed to weave a vibrant tapestry of time and images. As my dad was an avid photographer, my first memories are of being the subject for his camera. Yet if I look at a photo of myself at age 4, I struggle to remember the date or the occasion. All I know is the photograph. The moment that light reflected through the camera lens and was captured onto film.

Two weeks ago on Sunday night, June 7, 2020, my mother, Barbara Ione Dobbin Brubaker died. For 89 years, going at the same pace we all measure, the beautiful child at the lake became the devoted daughter, the favorite cousin, the loving wife, the attentive mother, the doting grandmother, the faithful friend, the creative artist, and the inspiring teacher. From her I learned to admire the wonders of nature, the thrill of travel, and the beauty of music and art. She faced adversity with courage, and always shared kindness with generosity and a smile. At the end, dementia robbed her of so much, yet she was mercifully spared from the horrible coronavirus pandemic, and for the last few months has mostly slept, quietly unaware of the world's turmoil. Though health precautions prevented me from seeing her these last few months, I was grateful to be granted some time that Sunday to be with her and know she was finally at peace.

In 2016 I took this photo of my mom sitting on my front porch swing with her dog Greta, who is now part of our household. My mother's smile is not much different from the one at the lake. She was a great storyteller, and I think it was her stories about countless family photos that inspired me to write this blog. It's all about time without time. And love without limit.

This is my contribution to Sepia Saturday

where everyone loves a dog.