Crystal Springs, Mississippi, between 1900 and 1950, via Luther Hamilton Photograph Collection, Mississippi Department of Archives and History Commons on flickr.
The almost 1,000 photos in this collection were taken or collected by the Luther Myles Hamiltons — Sr. and Jr. — during the first half of the 20th century. They document life in and around the farm town of Crystal Springs.
Luther Sr. was a portraitist, and his pictures of the babies, children, and women on this page are lovely.
Many of the farm fields in the suburbs of Stuttgart are blue with rows of cabbages right now. I will try to get a photo before the harvest.
The stump of the newborn
dries in the crook of my arm.
I am the witch, cradling
the pale green head,
murmuring, “Little one,
you look good enough to eat.”
— Lisel Mueller, from “Found in the Cabbage Patch“
This lady — probably in Finland, ca. 1900 — must have been really devoted to her bee hives to keep them so close to her open windows.
The photo is via Gallen-Kallelan Museo Commons on flickr, photographer unknown.
To scroll through larger images, click on ‘Continue reading’ below and then on any thumbnail in the gallery.
Deare behold me, you shall see
Faith the Hive, and love the Bee,
Which doe bring.
Gaine and sting.
— Lady Mary Wroth
“Yūgao dana nōryō zu” (cooling beneath an evening glory canopy), 1880s, a woodcut print by Yoshitoshi Taiso, via Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division.
The image “shows a couple in the country with a child and a teapot, sitting on a mat beneath a trellis covered with yūgao vines, enjoying the full moon,” according to the Library’s online catalogue.
Raspberry bush (bringebær) in Målselv, Norway, 1912, one more autochrome by Hanna Resvoll-Holmsen, via Nasjonalbiblioteket (National Library of Norway).
Dream, dream, for this is also sooth.
— William Butler Yeats, from “The Song of the Happy Shepherd“
“Food storage cellar, Deshee Unit, Wabash Farms [Cooperative], Indiana,” May 1940, by John Vachon, via Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division.
I found the preserves in the cellar. . . .
The black raspberries were still
delicious, each cluster
burning like years in the brain.
— Michael Waters, from “Preserves“