For us, Easter is the perfect time to take a yearly family photograph. We are already “dressed up” for church and often a beautiful backdrop of spring flowers, a canopy of birds, warm sun, cool breeze, and freshly mown lawn sit ready in the front yard for the occasion.

I am currently the volunteer photographer in our family. There is one of us in every group; someone with determination and conviction strong enough to weather protests, moans, and eye rolls of many a reluctant participant. Whether invited or dreaded, we familial paparazzi emerge as mini dictators for a few short minutes during the photo shoot and then slink back into place after the negotiations and battles have settled.

This is the quintessential “line up” type of picture. I discovered early in the process that I had to capture just the right moment to stage the photo. It is best for us after church but before the noon meal. That way we are not yet dotted with drips of veggie casserole and honey ham juices, and we haven’t put on stretch pants necessary to accommodate bulging waistlines. The kids will later start begging to go look for eggs in the yard and to eat the ears off their giant hollow chocolate bunnies.

I call this photo op “seizing the day” or “carpe diem” as the Roman poet Horace put it. Who knows what’s ahead and how many other celebrations we will have all together.  After this year someone’s image might drop out, temporarily or permanently. Children grow up. Marriages break up. Some move away. Others pass on. There will never be another today.

We have hundreds of similar photos of ourselves or relatives from generations past, and I treasure them. What people wear, their expressions, interactions, who stands next to whom, the car, house, yard, tree, or pet in the background are all things captured at this unique point on our communal timeline.  There is a necessary moment of closeness required. Often touching, we gather like little chicks under a hen’s wing, uniting for one purpose, warming ourselves briefly near the fire of family.

Each picture tells a story. Sometimes there is an undercurrent, a back story, that can only be known to the participants. That is why every photo requires a photographer, a storyteller, a listener, and someone to pass on to the next generations what cannot be caught by the camera lens.

This is a photo of our family at Easter two years ago. In this one Andrew is absent. We all look happy. Julianne and Matt have moved back to Kentucky from Washington with their family for Julianne to complete her PhD in Physics. I, Grandma Loretta, and Papa Hule soak in the joy of our family reuniting. Hazel is glad to be the center of attention. Jude finds his happy place in Momma’s skirt. He is unwilling to give us his face today. Sarah, our artist daughter, is home from Oregon for a while, but without Andrew. Living in our cozy attic, she soaks in sister-time, auntie crafts, and long, safe, healing bluegrass walks out back in wildflower fields.

For the click of a camera, we put on smiles. The priceless capturing of time, space, place, and face has been plucked from a precise moment never to be re-lived. Our cheerful expressions tell a true story, but not the whole story. I have “carp-ed” the big fat diem with my iPhone and printer. Now, it is time for other family storytellers to do their part.

(*This writing was done in a writers’ workshop at The Berry Center in New Castle, KY, taught by Georgia Green Stamper, author of Small Acreages, New and Collected Essays. She is a terrific writer and teacher! Thank you Georgia and Berry Center!)