Memory vs. Records

Memory of a Photo

I remember a photo of my husband that I took when we were living in Leiston, England, a small town near the North Sea. We lived there for three years while he was stationed nearby with the U.S. Air Force. I believe the photo was taken in 1990, the summer after our oldest daughter was born. We were on our way home from attending church in Ipswich, when we saw a magnificent field of red poppies. We pulled to the side of the narrow, hedge-lined road to stop and take pictures to send to our families in the United States. A salty breeze made waves through the field as the flowers’ heads bent and twirled like the skirts of tiny dancers.

My memory of this photo shows my husband standing in the middle of the red poppies. He has dark brown hair, not grey like now. He is dressed in a brown-striped sweater and brown pants. I remember as he posed, he dramatically picked a flower and pretended to smell it. He smiled big with his chin held high and his eyebrows raised. Something about the way he stood, about the way he held the flower, and about how he held up his other hand made me laugh like crazy.

After I Looked at the Photo

I found the photo in our 1990 photo album. The sky is grey and white. It looks like it’s going to rain. Roger looks like he’s standing toward the edge of the large field of red poppies. There are many yellow rapeseed flowers in the foreground of the picture. There are trees and power lines on the distant horizon. Roger’s hair is dark brown. He’s wearing his church clothes-- a brown and black striped sweater with a white shirt underneath and black pants. He is smiling big and his eyes are closed. With one hand, he’s holding a red poppy to his nose as if he is smelling it. He’s holding his other hand up in the air in a way that makes him look like he’s either surprised or intoxicated by the poppy’s wonderful scent.

Feelings about the Memory vs. the Photo

I am surprised by the color differences between the photo and the memory. The field of bright red poppies is the dominate color in the memory. I can see how the background and the green of the leaves and stems would be forgettable, but how could I forget the yellow rapeseed? Maybe it’s because we lived near huge fields of the yellow flowers and they were more familiar. I’d forgotten the grey sky. I’d forgotten we had to hurry and take the picture because it was starting to rain. I remembered the pose of my husband and the look on his face almost exactly as it is in the photo. That reassured me. I was beginning to wonder if I ever remember anything accurately.

My memory of the red poppies is more vivid than the reality of the photo. I like the memory better. I see the humor in the picture, but being there and watching my husband acting dramatically was funnier. I like the wind of the memory better than the clouds in the photo. Though I prefer the memory, I’m happy I have both the memory and the record.

Note:  This was an exercise for my writing-creative-nonfiction class.  I took a picture of the picture since our scanner is broken. I'm not sending the picture to my teacher.  He'll just have to take my word for it. :)