When was it?
What were you doing?
Landscape?
My parents, in those Depression Years before I went to school, had concerns other than snapping pictures of me and my younger sister. Only one snapshot of me as a toddler remains in my possession. I have no idea who snapped it; probably one of my cousins, whose family shared a duplex with my family.
The photo is black-and-white, of course, possibly taken with a box-camera. In it, I am probably no more than three years old, standing alone in the middle of a field of weeds and flowers, holding one flower (daisy?, dandelion?) in my right hand. Many scraggly-branched trees form a border far behind me. I think the site is the upper part of the large back yard of the duplex we lived in.
As in the Parry Studios photograph, my demeanor in this photo is pensive, too, but perhaps more somber -- actually, even rather belligerent. Maybe I didn't like to have my likeness taken, or maybe the novelty of having my picture snapped was foreign and puzzeling to me. In the shot, I display a big head of very thick dark hair, cut short, with Buster Brown bangs across my forehead. I am dressed in a white, short-sleeved, short-pants, one-piece play outfit. Only my two baby-chubby thighs and knees show above the flowers and weeds.
When my husband first found this photo among our jumbled collection, he put it in a lime green frame he had bought purposely for it. Around the border of the frame is printed "Mary, Mary quite contrary". He thought the frame a most appropriate find. It sits on the melodian in our far room, and our four offspring love it, especially the inscription on the frame.