This week we are showcasing Neighbors on the Jordan and Burds page, a fishing vacation on the The Miller Gardn page, and going on a hike on the 6 Degrees of Anderson page. I hope you will enjoy not only the photos but the stories that come with them.
Thank you for taking the time to read my blogs and walk through these family photos with me. I’m so thankful to everyone who stops by to read my blogs and explore these pieces of our family history. Sharing old photos and genealogy isn’t just about the past—it’s about connection—and I’m grateful you’re part of that journey.
This was the photo I had. Simple. Where we see Kirk in the lead, being followed by Todd and then Dick up a path in the mountains near Aspen. I thought it was a striking photo even though I didn’t understand why Kirk and Todd would be hiking in plastic coats. Surely they’d be too hot and uncomfortable to want to hike in them. Both boys are wearing jeans and Muller Elementary shirts, with plastic coats over them. Since the photo is centered on the individuals, you see Kirk’s smile and Todd’s concentration, with Dick’s presence in the background. There is emotion to this photo.
To me, it looks like this could almost be anywhere. From a field in Oklahoma to the Flint Hills that surround Manhattan. So when Cris told me this was taken outside of Aspen, Colorado, I could kind of see it.
But then Cris sent me this…
The differences are so striking. While Kirk, Todd and Dick are still the focal point, in this photo you see the expanse of the mountain and the feeling that there is a scale to the environment. You see the rugged beauty in the Aspen Wilderness. This photo shows the journey that they are walking. The expanse of the mountains and the height of the trees. It reminds me that our world is far bigger than we might first think. And when we set out on that trail that great things can happen when step beyond what we know and put on plastic coats 🙂
I’m getting ready to take vacation time at work. These photos made me think about what I could do with my time off. A summer day with nothing to do but fish sounds like a great day to me!
Here we have Kermit and friends escaping to fish in the late 1940s to early 1950s. With stringers of fish, likely northern pike or walleye, and vacation clothes, they appear to be having a day that is rare. Where you’re relaxed and glad to have a break from the day-to-day work, which can at times feel so overwhelming. When you go out at the crack of dawn, and you don’t come back until it’s time for a meal, and then you’re back out in a boat or on a dock fishing. Relaxed.
I just love the simple camp cabins. You didn’t go to a fishing camp like this for the cabin. You went for the location and the fish. Most fishing cabins are simple. No insulation or sometimes bathrooms. Just four walls, a bed, a kitchen, and nature. Simple.
These photos feel like this was a fellowship of men. Gathering in nature. With quiet roads, open fields, and a simple cabin. There are no notes of names or locations on these photos. And with the number of lakes a short distance from the Miller farm, it’s hard to say where they might be. This was finally a chance to breathe, to swap stories to feel the sun on their backs and a tug of a fish on the line. It was finally MIller Time.
I love Cousin Jean’s scrapbook. To me, Cousin Jean was a mysterious figure who was always discussed with great reverence and awe. And her scrapbook has been just as awe-inspiring. Frank and Dora Bourscheidt built a home at 100 Fredonia Avenue in 1892, when Jean was just 17 years old. Set at Fredonia and University Avenues in Peoria, it was located at the top of a T-intersection.
Jean shows us three different times the neighbors came together to share a meal. They appear to be from the early 1900s based on the photos, fashion, writing, and Jean herself. Here, she notes the Wead, Todd, and Worthington families as their neighbors. Even with outdoor settings, the meals appear somewhat formal, with dishes, tablecloths, and more formal attire. These areas were extensions of the home, creating spaces where hospitality could flourish. Through regular contact with their neighbors, the Bourscheidt family was able to share traditions and develop a sense of belonging. The fact that Jean chose to preserve these meals in her scrapbook shows how meaningful these neighbors were to her.
Do you know your neighbors? My next-door neighbors speak Spanish and make everyday conversation a little harder to bridge. But it’s fun to hear their music, which seems to bring the street alive, and to catch the warm smells of the food they’re cooking as it fills the air. Even though Jean’s gatherings took place more than a century ago, it’s a reminder that sharing food, space, and simple moments with the people around us is still one of the most meaningful ways we build community.
I’ve been spending some time today looking through old family photos, and it’s amazing how much history I see in each snapshot. Each photo carries its own story, its own moment in time. How the smallest details — a tree, a porch step, a familiar face — can bring back whole chapters of our lives.
If you enjoy a bit of nostalgia and family history, I’d love for you to take a look at today’s blog. It’s all about the people and moments that shaped us.
Feeling grateful for the roots that keep us grounded and the memories that keep us connected.
When I first saw this photo, I immediately thought about the book, THE GRAPES OF WRATH by John Steinbeck. The overalls, the steady expressions, and the rural strength that the Joad family had in that novel also seem to be on the faces of the Katz family in this photo. This story was not one I enjoyed reading as a sophomore in high school. The hardships described in the book brought the Dust Bowl and the depression to life for me, and now here was a Katz family photo that also did just that.
The overalls being worn in this photo were a symbol of workwear throughout America. Overalls originated in the 18th century as protective garments for laborers, designed from coarse cotton to protect clothing and worn over it. They evolved through innovations by Levi Strauss & Co. and Lee Jeans in the late 1800s–early 1900s, becoming the first true bib overalls. Because they were durable, affordable, and protective, they became the defining uniform of American farmers, railroad workers, and rural families by the 1920s–1930s.
Here, in the back row, are Audie’s brother and his family with Audie’s family. The one person missing from this photo is patriarch Audie Katz, so I assume he took it. In the back we have Howard Katz and his parents, Mary and Bill Katz; June Katz Anderson; and Marvin Katz. In the front row are Robert, who is not looking at the camera; Hazel, holding Donald and perhaps talking to Robert; and Bill Katz, standing in front of his sister.
The next thing I had to consider was the time frame, as there was no date on the photo. As in many of our photos, I use one of the people I know well to be my anchor and draw a timeline around them. In this case I used June. June was born in 1916 and appears to be in her late teens or early 20’s. In 1934 she would have been 18. She married Howard Anderson in 1937, so I think we can say this photo would have been taken between 1934 and 1936.
I don’t believe that Manhattan, Kansas, where the Katz family resided, was in the core area of the Dust Bowl in the 1930s; however, it was close enough to feel the effects on the areas of Kansas that were affected. Manhattan is part of the Flint Hills region and, as such, had more natural grass and fewer erosion problems. I’m sure they received some of the dust that blew in from the affected areas in Kansas during the peak affected years of 1934 to 1936.
John Steinbeck wrote The Grapes of Wrath in 1938, when the Dust Bowl and the Depression were easing their grip on America. He showed how ordinary people carried extraordinary strength through everyday life, and this photo of the Katz family reflects that truth: a family living through the same era, weathering its challenges, and finding dignity in the simple act of standing together.
I really enjoy black-and-white photographs. I look at many of them when planning blogs or when looking for new photos of family I haven’t seen before. In this one, I find that there’s a quiet beauty on the front steps of the Miller farmhouse in German Valley, Illinois. Perhaps they were just pausing between chores or taking a quick rest outside when the idea of taking a photo came up. Here we have Maye Miller Motter, Wava Miller, and Eunice Kramer Miller sitting together in the soft light of an ordinary day.
In every photo I see of Maye, she reflects a grace and gentleness that you don’t always see. Wava, by being in the middle, bridges the two women together with her youthful energy and curls. Eunice on the right has a smile that reflects the pride she feels in her home and her family. And you can just see into the front porch. When I knew it, there was a couch and chairs, an organ, and other items being stored on it. But it was always open and sunny, allowing a place for us to play, tucked safely away from the adults with toys and books.
In the end, it’s photos like this that remind us how the smallest pauses become the reflections that help hold the Miller family story together. Maye, Wava, and Eunice weren’t posing for history — they were simply sharing a moment on a warm day on the farm. As time moved forward and those steps changed, this photo keeps them alive in a way time cannot erase.
We move through life believing we know the people around us — their habits, their laughter, their routines — but it’s only when they’re gone that we realize how many pieces of them we never truly saw. Lois’s expression was always one of calm and serenity to me; however, beneath the surface, she was anything but calm at times. These serene moments become an echo of everything we wish we would have asked, noticed, or cherished while she was still here.
Lois Jean Jorden – photo developed November 22, 1949
When we lost Lois in 1984, the world kept moving in ways she never had the chance to witness — all her nephews and nieces growing into adults, the family shifting and expanding, with new traditions quietly forming within the family branches. She missed the laughter that came later, the reunions, the milestones, the small triumphs, and for some of us, the hard‑won peace we have eventually found.
Today Lois would have celebrated her 81st birthday! I find myself thinking about which aspects of technology she would enjoy. Perhaps digital cameras and photos would be her chosen enjoyment. Or the ability to send text messages that can include so many others. No longer waiting for the round-robin letter to get to you, but knowing instantly what her siblings were doing and being able to respond to them. I’m sure she would have enjoyed that. And so today I send all my love to Aunt Lois, wishing her a happy Heavenly birthday, grateful for the years she lived, thankful that we can keep her memory alive.
Some stories live quietly in the photographs we keep, the ones that capture who we were long before we knew how much those moments would matter. This week’s postings hold the everyday bonds and the generational strength that shaped our family’s path.
From Joyce and Lois on the Jorden and Burds page, together at the end of a day telling the story of what it’s like to try to go to bed as a child. To a summer afternoon at a family reunion on the Miller Garden page. Ending with a family four generation photo that celebrates the 70’s. These photos, side by side, remind us that the way we were is still part of who we are — stitched into memory, carried forward in every new chapter.
Thank you for reading and supporting my small family genealogy pages. Your presence helps keep these memories alive for generations to come.
Outdoor photos are some of my favorites. You don’t have to try to arrange a big group in a small space, and nature is always a good backdrop. Here we have the Anderson family commemorating what appears to be a casual summer get-together.
The first person I notice is Howard. His shirt makes him the focal point of the photo for me, perhaps because of the print. With his mother-in-law, Hazel Katz, standing next to him, also in a printed shirt. Everyone else is in solid colored clothing, so now I’m going back and forth from right to left. First to Sherigay and Dick Anderson, to Nancy and her husband, Gary Conover. I love how Sherigay is looking at Dick. You can see the love she has for him captured in her expression. I love how Nancy is holding a dog, making sure it’s included in this photo.
Then I look at the children with the oldest flanking the youngest. From left to right we have Kirk Anderson (holding a dog) Cary Conover, Chad Conover, Cris Anderson and Todd Anderson. And I know instantly that this photo is from the 1970’s.
Summertime in the 1970s was different for me than any other time. Long days that seemed to stretch forever and lasted until we would collapse once the sun went down, falling to sleep almost before our heads hit the pillow. Summer time meant being outside, either cooking meals because we didn’t want to heat up our houses or doing chores, and eating popsicles that seemed to melt faster than we could eat them. Life seemed to happen slower in the summer, the laughter was louder, and we wanted to capture and savor every moment. It’s proof that the best memories are never staged, just lived out.
