Memories. That’s what is inside of the many photo albums in my home and in the homes of my parents and in-laws. Those photo albums tell stories of our families without words. Each photo holds a memory, a story to be shared with family or a tear that needs to be shed seeing the face of someone. We live in the age of technology where we take photos of everything with the phone in our pocket. We swipe through our photo library and look at the digital pictures on tiny screens. Social media allows us to share our photos with the world and our friends, but there is something special about holding photos in our hands.

                  A lace bound album held the photos from my folks wedding day. Thumbing through the pictures every picture tells a story. There’s one of my dad and his groomsmen, his brothers and a close friend, all sporting their mustaches including the fake one they gave to the one groomsman who didn’t have one. There’s one of my grandmother pinning boutonnieres on that she had made by hand. My mom wears a long white dress, and the countless pictures of family and friends show how happy they were to celebrate mom and dad’s big day with them.

                  A big gray photo album held the memories of my early childhood. The photo of me dressed as Poncho Villa with a sombrero and an empty bottle of tequila with a gummy worm in the bottom tells the story of a little boy who won the Kiddie Dress Up Revue at the Pikes Peak or Bust Rodeo. Photos of me and my little friends playing little league baseball tell of times when our biggest worry was getting the third out in an inning. Our little team was unique, we received matching t-shirts that sported our team’s name, but our caps varied from the local co-op to the First National Bank. Some of us wore shorts, others wore jeans, and some wore sweatpants, but I don’t think there was a single pair of baseball pants on the team.

                  The photo album contained in my high school yearbook tell a story of a group of friends that worked together, played together and made many memories together. There’s photos of the first state playoff football game our school ever played in, the dance floor that we built for senior prom, and a demolition derby car that we built together. Each picture is a walk down memory lane for me. My children look at the pictures with me and I share the stories associated with each picture with them. They learn a little more about who their dad is, and I get to tell them stories about the people in the photos with me.

                  Probably the photos in the albums that are cherished the most are the ones of all are the ones who show someone who isn’t here anymore. There’s a picture of me, my cousin, and a dear friend outside a dance at the local gun club. The smile on our faces shows how we were enjoying the evening and each other’s company. It’s my friend’s smile that I remember most about him and that picture is a gateway to all the good times we shared together. The pictures of my grandparents bring back memories of family Christmas at their house, feeding cows on snowy mornings, and playing dominoes at the kitchen table.

                  In this age of all digital photos, taking the time to print out pictures and put them in an album seems almost silly. But this Christmas, let the grandkids find the old photo albums at grandma’s house. Have them sit next to grandma and grandpa while they look at pictures and hear stories of people and places. Those old photo albums are the stories of our families, and looking through them will make new memories with the new generation. That’s all for this time, keep tabs on your side of the barbed wire and God bless.

Meinzer is a fourth-generation rancher raised on the southeastern plains of Colorado. He and his family live and ranch in Oshkosh, Neb.