Archiving Family Memories

Article and Photographs

by Thomas Loucks

Joe Doherty’s recent article (“Make a Book, Part 1” May/June 2024) inspired me to report on my own efforts to document my memories from a treasured family home.

In the 1960s, my parents bought a charming, 150-year-old farmhouse in central Vermont (see below), about the same time as I had purchased my first 35mm camera (Nikkormat FTN). I often traveled there alone to study on weekends during undergraduate and graduate years, and it was here that I realized my love for landscape photography and the Vermont countryside.

For Christmas 1970, I presented my parents with a hardbound photo album of favorite images I had already captured to that point. The album still exists, but the drug store prints are faded. Fortunately, the original 35mm slides (Kodachrome, Agfachrome) remain in good shape, and, in 2021, I scanned them and made digital TIF images that I could edit.

To do so, I utilized a 2004 vintage CanoScan 8800F flatbed scanner, and dedicated firmware on the Windows XP computer I retain for this scanner. The scanner has served me well for several projects, having come with mounts that hold either 35mm slides or strips of 35mm film. Next, I blew air on each slide with a Giotto lens cleaning blower, and then examined each with a 10x handlens to see if it was clean. If not, I used a microfiber cloth and Edwal anti-stat film cleaner to work on any remaining blemishes.

Most slides were in very good shape, though some had some discoloration in the corners, and I would treat that in post-processing. My scanner came with ArcSoft PhotoStudio 5 software (v. 5.5.0.87 for Canon), and I would use the color positive tab for slides. The scanner is capable of settings far in excess of 300 dpi, and I have always been satisfied using 1200 dpi.

Next, how should I organize and preserve my memories from this place? I’m alone now in recalling those days, and I seek both an answer to which I can turn for my own pleasure, but also some form of document that my family can turn to. The question for me – and for anyone organizing such a project – is how to organize the album, and what should be included?

My hope is that these notes will not only document what I have done so far, but maybe serve as a guide pertaining to some types of images one might shoot going forward with this type of archival project in mind.

Presently, I am preparing a PowerPoint presentation which will serve as a draft before publishing a hardcopy photo album (which is what I would personally want), but the digital PowerPoint version can also serve for posterity, never losing its luster. The PowerPoint presentation so far has four parts. Part I is a reprise of my 1970 album, with all of the original photos re-edited with Adobe software and looking as spiffy, or possibly even better, than the original 35mm slides.

Part II is an historic record of my images by month, basically a visual calendar from whenever I was able to visit. Part III is similar but is very concise, capturing images that typify my memory of the property in each of the four seasons, and Part IV consists of my favorite images summarizing my memories from the time we owned the property.

To consolidate these thoughts, what do I choose to convey right now to readers of this article? Three things come to mind: the essence of the place as I remember it, highlights of some seasonal images that stick in my mind, and a few “studies” to show some views.

How many times over the years would I cherish these two views, taken out the same living room window where I would set up to study while maintaining an eye on the weather and light. In October, the barn siding and tarnished copper roof on the guest bedroom bay window would echo the hues of the foliage, and, in February, the snow on the rooves would take on a characteristic sheen after undergoing multiple freeze-thaw cycles each winter. To this day, both of these images depict lasting memories.

My all-time favorite composition from the property is a behind-thebarn view where the split rail fence leads into the scene. I shot this scene every season, every year, but the images from winter – and during snowstorms -still bring a smile to my face.

The study of sugar maple leaves approaching peak color, though not yet red, brings back memories of dramatic scenes of fall foliage. I have always cherished this image.

Summertime often brought sweltering heatwaves and truly muggy days. Left over from spring, the lawn remained ultra-green, yet already the fields and surrounding hillsides would take on a golden glow as the grasses dried out. I remember that we mowed a path up the hill outside the house, where we could walk to admire the views, and that path in the grass shows in this photo.

I’ll call two images “studies” – vignettes which depict other, more detailed memories: the buckets hanging inside the barn, while the weathered barn siding takes on gorgeous hues in late afternoon light; and sharp, crisp, subfreezing winter days, when the snow glistens like sugar and the sun beats down on our backyard fence.

Finally, some waxing views and memories: the glorious oak tree marked the western edge of our property, and, situated immediately adjacent to the road, was already struggling from the effects of snow-melt salt; I suspect the tree is gone by now. Fittingly (perhaps?), my last image taken while we owned the property I could name, “Curtains.” I shot this with a tripod, looking down the upstairs hallway and aiming toward one of the upstairs bedroom windows, which framed the rain-drenched fall foliage outside. I closed up my camera, said my good-byes, and drove to the airport to fly back to Denver. At the time, I hadn’t appreciated that “Curtains” would be my last image, drawing a close to my time at our home in Vermont.