My good buddy (and great teacher) Matt sent me an email link to some amazing color photos of the USA throughout the late 1930s and early 1940s - when the FSA was still paying photographers to capture the effects of the Depression on Americans. Most of us have spent our time enjoying the work of Dorothea Lange, but these color photos somehow, tell a more intimate story. I guess because these people look and seem just like us - only in a time long ago, and in very difficult situations.I am probably more aware of it presently, as we just enjoyed hosting a great visit from Heyward
and Julia - two old friends. We shared old stories, laughed about mistakes, and discussed what our old friends are up to. From there, we focused on our present lives - and where we find meaning. But within those initial moments of retrospection, I caught glimpses of my self, and of others, long ago. It doesn't make me nostalgic, as I am intent on present adventures - but it does comfort me to know that roots exists in my life. And though the roots are remembered (and most likely interpreted) differently by all of us as individuals - they are roots nonetheless. And typically, those roots are where our present story begins. 
And, in the end, this is what continues my love affair with all things historic.. . the ties that bind. And so in these photographs, I see my children in these children. I see my town in these towns. And I see how the hands of time, and the forces of history had been steadily shaping my world before I even existed.
The past is prologue.
That very fact continues to overwhelm me, make me feel small, and inspires me to do my part to be on the right side of history.
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