23 and who is she? Reading into sepia-toned photo of distant relative who died young
I never sent my DNA to that spiraling 23andMe company, even though I think it’s wild how one can spit into a tube and migrate backward.
Maybe it was that Jim Croce song that made me hesitate to participate. He crooned the wise lyric, “You don’t spit in the wind.” An updated version of the tune, with the threat of data breaches, should go “You don’t spit in the mail.”
Perhaps I did not participate in that great DNA craze due to laziness. Now I feel lucky to have skipped.
I certainly don’t lack curiosity about the “rels” who came before me. That’s why I’m a little haunted by a Victorian era photo that somehow ended up in my stash. I think it’s a shot of my great-great Aunt Jess. The sepia print, which appears to be a techno advance just a small step above tintype, was cut to fit an oval frame. I’m certain I once possessed the frame, and I’m equally confident the now-missing back cover had a demystifying description my late uncle jotted down. But where did I put that back flap?
The words he scribbled went something like, “Great Aunt Jess. Born in (somewhere) Scotland. Died young from tuberculosis.” He mentioned she went to a sanitarium in Upstate New York. He had a morbid side when describing past generations.
Let’s leave my recollection at that for now. I could be off. Maybe I’m thinking about another rogue photo. Or her sister. (My great-great Aunt Margaret?) The point is, here’s a family member from my mother’s father’s side. I’m related to this woman, yet I have no idea who she is or was, other than she once posed for a fancy picture and tuberculosis cut her life short.
Here’s what I do know. She was obviously lovely. And stylish. That textured and poufy cloud hat! The dark bows along her collar bone and tiny waist. Were they black, brown or royal blue? These bows appear to have been velvet, one of my top fabrics. I approve; I so approve. I am telling myself it’s genetic, to be attracted to velvet. You don’t want to know how many clothing items and furniture pieces and pillows in that lush fabric I own.
She would like my choices. Probably not the favorite hoodie I’m wearing at the moment, but she’d nod at the fabric in my closet and on my sofas. However, I don’t have a star pattern lace/linen blouse that tapers to a perfect point between my wrist and knuckles. This ancestor of mine was born at a good time for ornate garments, but at an unfortunate time and place for tuberculosis.
Yet, I am saying this at a moment when the current administration is gutting our CDC and other health agencies, and kneecapping disease prevention funding and research, including for deadly TB. Why? Folks “in charge” are alarmingly casual about all sorts of contagiousness. So like diseases, maybe ornate star pattern lace blouses will make a strong comeback, too. We all could use something nice to look at while we wonder if our childhood measles shots are holding.
Hello, great-great Aunt Jess. I can personally use an extra guardian angel if you have spare time, or connections. Life on this earth has felt weird and extra dangerous lately.
It’s odd. From a distance, my ancestor’s gaze seems serene. But when I zoom in, do I see despair, discomfort, stress? Apples fall from trees; trees grow from apples. Judging from her waist size, a cruel corset could have been the source of worry. Or maybe just the times in which she landed. It’s never easy being a human, especially a human woman. Corsets come in many forms, no matter the century.
Who needs to spit into a plastic container and mail it to a profiteer when you can simply observe the here and now and try to piece together family history from an old photo?
Some history shouldn’t repeat. Here’s to the right kind of science, and the devoted scientists, who can help us all.
Reach Denise Snodell at stripmalltree@gmail.com