Yesterday while doing some archival work in the lab we came across some newspaper articles, mostly from the 70s, about energy and the environment. The Imperial Valley was at that time beginning to be seen as a place where solar and wind projects might thrive and it was fascinating to see such early articles on the process, considering that today green energy is such a big part of valley life. I mentioned to my intern that these were the sort of things that high school student might use for research projects on the valley's history when we finish processing the collection. We also found a series of articles on archaeology, the BLM, and off-roaders and the fight to preserve sites, the desert, and somehow still let people have a good time. Also timely, since these are still conversations being held today. It's alway exciting to see new material and know that you can use them as an example of why archives are still important to the community.
But it was what I received in the mail this week that really brought home to me the importance of archives today, and allowing us to connect to people. I've processed many collections of the years, including correspondence, and always seen other people's letters as a fascinating research tool to see their lives and their times through their own words. But at one point, those were just letters. Handled by the post office, telling someone about daily life somewhere else, what a friend or family member experienced on a vacation. A way of connecting two people, referring to things maybe only they would understand or be interested in. I am one of those few people who still write letters. Not many, but there are a few people who still like getting handwritten snail mail from me. My best friend from Indonesia and I handwrote letters until recently, when we finally gave in to the lousy postal systems of our two countries constantly losing our letters and started emailing letters to each other. It's not the same, I don't think either of us likes it as much, but it keeps us connected.
Last week I got a call from my friend Allaina's mother. It was four years ago this coming May that we lost Allaina. While going through a few things, Terrilee had found a postcard Allaina wrote to me during her trip to Ireland in 2001. Did I want it? The answer, of course, was yes. As hard as I knew it would be to read, I still wanted any connection to Allaina that I could have. To hear her words and have another little slice of what she was thinking at some point in her life. A few days ago I got the postcard. Once again I was seeing my friend's handwriting, and hearing her voice telling me about the two identical, hard to find, postcards she had bought and the story behind them. She referenced Yeats and I was reminded of the Irish literature class we took in college together, the semester just before Allaina's trip. Would someone 50 years from now know she was reminding me of that, of why it was especially interesting to her to see where Yeats lived, of the story of his muse Lady Gregory? Of the English professor who taught the class, who we loved so much we took any class with him we could just to listen to his stories? Almost certainly not. Would a future archivist know that this postcard wasn't out of order among my papers, but had been sent to me over ten years after it had been written? That it was no longer just telling the story of a trip to Ireland through an obligatory postcard, but telling the story of my relationship to Allaina today?
When I processed William Everett's papers at the Massachusetts Historical Society, I liked to try and imagine how he would have felt receiving some of the letters I was processing. This one from his younger sister, who he was very close to, that one from a school friend he stayed in touch with throughout their lives. It is easy to forget that what we find and process in a collection is not only information about a time, place, and people from centuries past. It is their life. The stories, jokes, references, secrets they shared in paper that perhaps they would never share in person. The pleasure in receiving a letter along with a bill in the mail, of deciding what to share with the reader that would make the letter worth the sending. In this case, it is not just the story of a vacation, but of a friendship that began the first day of college at a get-to-know-you outdoor picnic/mixer at Lake Forest College, IL and remains strong to this day.
