The next time you find a Real Photo Postcard in your family collection, don’t just look at who’s pictured.

Turn it over.

The clue you need might be on the back.

Turn it over.

The back of that postcard may be just as important as the photograph on the front.

Real Photo Postcards, commonly called RPPCs, appeared around 1900 and remained available for decades. They were actual photographic prints made from negatives and printed on postcard stock. Professional photographers used the format, but so did amateur photographers. Some were mailed, but many were not. I have quite a few unmailed examples in my own research collection.

So how do you date one?

As with any photo mystery, don’t depend on a single piece of evidence. Look for overlapping clues that help you narrow the time frame.

1. Start With the Stamp Box

Turn the postcard over and look in the upper-right corner. Is there a printed box showing where the stamp should go?

That little box can be a significant dating clue.

Manufacturers of photographic postcard paper changed the designs and markings in their stamp boxes over time. Names such as AZO, CYKO, VELOX, KRUXO, and others may appear there. Even the arrangement of letters, lines, squares, or triangles around the name can matter. Use Playle.com’s Real Photo Postcard Stamp Backs guide.

I’ve used stamp boxes to date photographs in my own research. In one case involving a photograph of two cowboys, an AZO stamp box with an upright triangle in each corner helped establish a date range of 1904–1918.

That’s quite a clue from a tiny box most people overlook.

One caution: the date range on the photographic paper indicates when that paper was available. It doesn’t necessarily tell you the exact year the photograph was taken.

Consider it one piece of evidence.

2. Look at the Postcard Back

Is the back divided in half, with space for a message on the left and the address on the right?

That format provides another clue.

Before March 1907 in the United States, postal regulations generally required the back of a postcard to be reserved for the address. If the sender wanted to write a message, it often had to be squeezed onto the picture side.

Beginning in 1907, senders could write their message and the address on the back. The familiar divided-back postcard was born.

If your card has an undivided back, investigate whether it could predate 1907. If it has a divided back, you’re generally looking at 1907 or later.

But once again, don’t stop there.

A photographer could have had older postcard stock on hand, and an unmailed postcard gives you no postmark to help determine when it was actually used.

3. Read Everything on the Back

Never ignore handwriting.

A mailed postcard gives you an obvious clue: the postmark. That’s the date the postcard was mailed, though the photograph itself may have been taken earlier.

The message may be even more useful.

Look for references to birthdays, weddings, illnesses, trips, new babies, deaths, weather, holidays, military service, or upcoming visits. Even something as simple as “Here is our new house” can give you a research lead.

Then look at the recipient.

Who were they? Where were they living at the time? Does that address appear in a census, city directory, newspaper, or other genealogical record?

In one postcard case I researched, the recipient’s name and address provided a path into genealogical records that could help identify the people pictured.

A postcard isn’t just a photograph. It’s also a document.

4. Study the People in the Photograph

Now turn the card back over.

What are the people wearing?

Clothing is one of my favorite photographic clues because fashion changed over time. Look beyond the general impression of an outfit and study the details.

For women, examine sleeves, collars, necklines, waistlines, skirt shapes, hemlines, and hairstyles. For men, look at collars, ties, lapels, jackets, hats, facial hair, and hairstyles.

Children’s clothing can provide clues as well.

And don’t forget accessories and props. Eyeglasses, jewelry, hats, occupational clothing, uniforms, toys, furniture, and even the way a studio arranged its subjects can contribute evidence.

You’re looking for a period in which all those details could reasonably coexist.

5. Investigate the Photographer—and the Background

Is there a photographer’s name, studio imprint, embossed mark, or handwritten identification on the postcard? It’s unlikely you’ll find an imprint, but if you do, it’s an important clue.

Research it.

City directories, newspapers, advertisements, census records, and local historical collections can help establish when a photographer was working at a particular address.

If you discover that a photographer operated at 25 Main Street from 1908 to 1913 and moved to another address in 1914, you’ve just created a useful window for your photograph.

But don’t limit your search to studio portraits.

Real Photo Postcards captured houses, businesses, schools, churches, streets, disasters, celebrations, and everyday community life. Look closely at signs, automobiles, architecture, utility poles, advertisements, street names, and businesses.

Sometimes the background is the clue that solves the mystery.

Put the Clues Together

Here’s where the real detective work begins.

Suppose you have a Real Photo Postcard with:

• an AZO stamp box associated with 1904–1918

• a divided back, suggesting 1907 or later

• clothing consistent with about 1910

• a photographer who worked at the address printed on the card from 1909 to 1913

• a family known to have lived in that town beginning in 1911

Individually, none of those clues gives you an exact date.

Together, they might allow you to estimate that the photograph was taken between 1911 and 1913.

That’s a much stronger conclusion than simply saying, “It looks like it’s from around 1910.”

And that’s the key to dating family photographs: one clue gives you a possibility; several independent clues give you evidence.

In 1903, Kodak introduced the No. 3A Folding Pocket Kodak camera, which produced negatives in a format suitable for postcard-sized photographs. I have one in my camera collection. Amateur photographers could take postcard-size images of family, friends, and activities.

If you’ve ever wondered why so many early twentieth-century family photographs look like postcards, this camera—and the growing popularity of photographic postcard paper—are part of the story.

Soon, amateur photographers and professional studios alike could produce photographs on postcard stock. These became known as Real Photo Postcards, or RPPCs.

My maternal grandparents, for instance, went to a studio for their wedding portraits, and their photographs were printed as postcards. I also have many Real Photo Postcards in my research collection that were never mailed. They were photographs first and postcards second—a convenient and inexpensive format for sharing pictures with family and friends.

A Real Photo Postcard is an actual photographic image printed on postcard stock. Although it could be mailed, many RPPCs were simply saved in family albums or tucked away with other photographs.

As postcard collector and podcast guest Mark Routh explained in episode 39 of The Photo Detective Podcast, RPPCs documented the everyday people, businesses, events, and places that didn’t always appear on commercially produced postcards. Shop interiors, local celebrations, street scenes, homes, and small-town life all found their way onto photographic postcards.

More Than a Pretty Picture

Postcards can be surprisingly valuable to family historians—not only for the scenes they depict but also for what was written on them.

Here’s a birthday-party invitation with the message written right on the front of the card. These brief messages can capture the ordinary moments of family life that rarely appear in official records.

And postcards were practical. In the early twentieth century, mail could be delivered more than once a day in some communities. A postcard might be used to invite someone to lunch, announce a visit, send a quick update, or simply say, “I’ll see you this afternoon.”

Then there are the colorful commercially printed postcards many of us recognize—views of towns, hotels, train stations, churches, parks, tourist attractions, and vacation destinations. Perhaps your ancestors bought them while traveling or received them from relatives and friends.

Don’t dismiss these cards just because they don’t have a family photograph on the front. The picture, postmark, address, handwriting, and message can all contain clues.

Postcards and Family History

Take another look at the postcards in your family collection. You can also search postcard collections for places connected to your ancestors.

• Look for postcards of the towns and neighborhoods where your ancestors lived. They can show streets, buildings, businesses, and landscapes that have long since disappeared.

• Search for postcards of their homes. It’s not as unusual as you might think, particularly in collections of local Real Photo Postcards.

• Study the message and postmark. A few handwritten sentences may reveal relationships, travel, illnesses, celebrations, visits, or everyday routines.

• Pay attention to the recipient. The name and address may provide evidence of where someone was living at a particular moment.

• Use postcards to understand a place. Even when your ancestor isn’t pictured, a postcard can help you visualize the community in which they lived.

Postcards are more than souvenirs. They are miniature pieces of social and family history—and sometimes the smallest card can hold a surprisingly big clue.

Submit Your Postcards

It’s not too late to submit postcards for my “Postcards in the Family. ”

A few years ago, a librarian at the Western History/Genealogy Collection of the Denver Public Library bought a couple of pictures and sent them to me. He also mailed me a page from the 1860 Federal Census of Pennsylvania listing the family.

On the surface, they are simple carte des visite (CDV) portraits of two brothers in suits with hats in hand. One was taken by Allen and the other by Mortimer.

Allen’s Studio

A.M. Allen of Pottsville, Pennsylvania, took Winfield’s portrait. Allen’s studio employed a spindle chair with an upholstered seat as a prop. It would hold their subjects still. You can see the footed brace (visible at their feet). It’s a typical studio set up—chair, patterned flooring and a solid background.

Amos M. Allen worked in Pottsville and Columbia, Pennsylvania, from 1852 to 1894. Early in his career, he won an award for his daguerreotypes. This picture is proof that he’s making CDV’s. Yet in the 1860 census he still calls himself a daguerreotypist.

Mortimer’s

William R. Mortimer had a similar studio arrangement and even the same card stock. He posed Oscar for his picture. Look closely to see the differences: same chair type, but different upholstery. You can see the baseboard in Allen’s studio but not in Mortimer’s picture.

Who Are They?

The names on the back of each identify them as Oscar and Winfield Glassmire (left to right). In 1860, they were 5 and 8 years old. Oscar has an eye issue.

Their father was a master butcher with real estate and personal estate. He was doing well. He lived on a street with other merchants and one other butcher. His circumstances changed. By 1870, William appears as a Coal Operator, with much better financial resources. Pottsville was a growing town with opportunities for ambitious men.

When looking at pictures, imagine being alive at the time and meeting these two lads. Their lives are in front of them. As genealogists, we can put together their story. We have the skills to uncover the details of the who, what, and why of their lives. We can discover what happened before and after the photographer snapped the shutter.

Oscar died in 1876 at twenty-one and left all of his belongings to his mother. I’m not sure about Winfield at this point.

The most interesting part of the caption on the back of these photos suggests a reason for them. Both boys were in “Mr. Auman’s class.” Whether this refers to a private school, a public one, or a church school is uncertain.

James bought these images, but as usual, the history of ownership and context is missing. Were they once in an album with other students of Mr. Auman’s? Or were they placed in a family photo album alongside other members of the family? We will likely never know. And of course, the biggest mystery is how they ended up in Colorado!

Photo mysteries can lead to other missing pieces of a family history. In this case, a lot about the boys is unknown.

A private Glasmire family tree exists on Ancestry.com. No members of this family appear on the tree that begins in 1881, a generation later than these boys lived. There are matches on FamilySearch, and the tree's creator used these images.

Some families die out. That may be what happened to the Glasmire Family of Pottsville, Pennsylvania.

I’m hoping the Schuylkill County Historical Society will want these images. I’m also hoping they have information on Mr. Auman and what he taught. I was able to find a cousin who wanted scans of the images.

Citations

Linda A. Ries and Jay W. Ruby, Directory of Pennsylvania Photographers 1839-1900 (Commonwealth of Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania Historical and Museum Commission, 1999) 3,194.

We explore the tragic 1834 wreck of the Mentor, whose crew became stranded for years on the islands of Palau after their ship struck a reef. Erick shares how firsthand survivor accounts, newly digitized archival sources, and years of historical research allowed him to reconstruct this remarkable story of endurance, cultural encounters, and rescue. Along the way, we discuss why these stories matter to genealogists and family historians seeking to understand the lives—and sometimes mysterious disappearances—of their seafaring ancestors.

The Polaroid Corporation changed photography forever when Edwin Land introduced the first commercial instant camera in 1948. Those earliest instant pictures were black-and-white, and part of the appeal was the pure magic of seeing the image appear while you watched. Take a picture, wait a little while, and voilà—there was your photograph.

When I was a kid, I had a Polaroid Swinger. It’s still one of the treasures in my camera collection. You could carry it on your wrist and snap pictures of your friends wherever you went. To develop the image, you applied a chemical coating to the surface and waited for the magic to happen. Not surprisingly, many of those pictures have faded away over time.

Polaroids were wildly popular. You didn’t have to send film away and wait days—or weeks—only to discover you’d taken a whole roll of blurry vacation pictures. With an instant camera, you could retake the image right then and there.

It wasn’t just families who loved Polaroids. Professional photographers used them to test lighting setups, and police departments relied on them for documentation. Instant photography changed the way people worked.

Then came the iconic SX-70 in 1972. Those white-bordered pictures are instantly recognizable even today.

Unlike the earlier peel-apart prints, no chemical application was required. When the picture ejected through the rollers, the chemicals inside the film activated automatically. Wait a minute or two, and there was your image.

Interestingly, Polaroid didn’t make most of its profit from the cameras. The real money was in the film.

Like snapshots, these square instant prints captured candid moments. Family celebrations, vacations, goofy faces, kids clowning for the camera—Polaroids documented everyday life in a wonderfully spontaneous way.

Preservation Problems

But there was one problem: permanence.

Polaroid knew these images had preservation issues. Early black-and-white prints tended to fade. SX-70 images could crack, discolor, and lose detail. In the 1980s, the company even offered a copy service. You could mail your Polaroids to them and receive print copies in return.

Eventually, popularity declined. By the late 1990s and early 2000s, 35mm photography had become cheaper and more convenient. One-hour photo labs offered fast turnaround and duplicate prints. Then digital photography arrived—and that changed everything.

Around 2010, instant photography experienced a nostalgic revival. After all, you can’t hold a digital image in your hand the same way you can a print. Suddenly, smaller instant cameras started appearing at weddings, parties, and celebrations as a way to capture the feeling of an event in real time.

Today, you can still buy modern “Polaroid-style” cameras. In my opinion, the image quality isn’t quite as good as the originals. The pictures can look soft or fuzzy. But younger generations love the nostalgic look and the tactile experience of holding a physical photograph.

One thing Polaroids have going for them?
You could write directly on that white border.

I have a lot of Polaroid prints in my own collection. My husband worked for Polaroid for several years and often brought home test cameras. Our children especially loved one model that could record and play back a message like, “Say cheese!”

Lately, I’ve been thinking about Polaroids because I rediscovered a cache of them while organizing photographs. My first thought was, “I’m never going to find an album for these.”

A quick Google search proved me wrong.

There are albums specifically made for instant prints, and honestly, they’re pretty handy. Since the pictures themselves are plastic-coated, I’m not overly concerned about storing them in plastic pages. The albums I found at B&H Photo Video fit standard 600, i-Type, SX-70, and Polaroid Go film sizes, as well as 2″ x 3″ ZINK prints. (No affiliate link—just sharing what I found.)

Take my advice:
Dig through all your photo boxes before ordering an album.

While writing this article, I discovered another cache of instant pictures. I immediately realized I should have bought the larger album.

Looking through those photographs has been a true blast from the past. Sharing them with family and friends brings back the exact moments we captured. That’s the real magic of photography.

What I’m Doing With My Polaroid Pictures

• Scanning them at 600 dpi

• Sharing the scans with family and friends pictured in them

• Placing the originals in albums

• Uploading scans to my Forever.com account

• Adding metadata: names, approximate dates, locations, and “Polaroid” as a keyword so I can instantly locate them later

As The Photo Detective, I spend a lot of time looking at faces—trying to put names to them, dates to them, and stories behind them.

But sometimes the mystery isn’t in the photograph.

It’s in the absence.

You know what I mean. A woman appears in early records—maybe a census, maybe a childhood mention—and then she’s gone. No marriage. No death record where you expect it. No trace.

So what happened to her?

In a recent episode of The Photo Detective Podcast, I talked with Sunny Morton about a possibility many researchers overlook:

She may have become a nun.

The Clue We’ve All Heard—But Don’t Know How to Use

If you’ve attended genealogy lectures, you’ve probably heard it:

“If you have a nun in your family, find out what order she belonged to”

And then… the speaker moves on.

But how do you actually do that?

That’s exactly why Sunny wrote her book, Searching for Sisters. Because for most of us, this isn’t obvious research. It’s a different world with different rules, terminology, and records.

And unless you understand that world, these women remain hidden.

My Own Photo Detective Moment

Here’s where it got personal. I didn’t think I had any nuns in my family.

But when I started digging into newly available newspaper records, I found an obituary for my two-times great-grandmother—and there they were.

Two daughters listed as “Sister.” Not just one. Two. Different orders. Completely unknown to me.

Now that’s a clue that changes everything.

Why These Women “Disappear”

When a woman entered religious life, she didn’t just change her address.

She often changed her name. Her daily life. Her connection to the outside world. In many cases, contact with family became limited. Over time, memory fades. A generation passes, then another.

The Real Key: Identify the Order

Here’s the thing—this isn’t a simple search.

You can’t just type a name into a database and expect results. At least not, yet.

You need to identify the religious order—the community she joined. Because that’s where the records are. And according to Sunny, those records can be extraordinary: personal files, letters, entrance records, and sometimes photographs.

But first, you need clues.

Where to Look for Those Clues

Start with what you know. It’s the first rule of genealogy.

• Obituaries are often the breakthrough. They may list a religious name or the order.

• Census and vital records help you match the woman you lost with the woman you’ve found.

• Newspapers? Don’t skip them. Vow ceremonies and convent life were often reported—especially in Catholic communities.

• And then there are the photographs.

What a Habit Can Tell You

As someone who analyzes images for a living, I can tell you this:

Clothing matters. A nun’s habit isn’t just symbolic—it’s specific.

Different orders wore different styles, and according to Sunny, trained archivists working in religious archives can often recognize them immediately. You might not know what you’re looking at—but they do.

That unidentified woman in your photo collection? She might not be a mystery at all. She might be waiting for you to ask a better question.

The Archives You Didn’t Know Existed

Here’s something that surprises a lot of people:

Sunny told me that most religious orders have archives. Her book can help.

You may not be able to walk in and spend a week researching, but you can reach out. Email them. Share what you know. Include a photograph if you have one.

And here’s the best part—they want to help.

They care deeply about identifying these women and reconnecting them with their families.

The Bigger Story

One of the things that struck me most in my conversation with Sunny is just how much these women accomplished.

In the 19th and early 20th centuries, religious women:

• Built hospital systems

• Educated generations of children

• Provided social services across the country

And yet, in so many family histories, they’re invisible.

That’s a gap we can fix.

A New Way to Look at Your Family Tree

So the next time you hit a dead end with a woman in your research, ask yourself:

• Did she marry—or did she choose a different life?

• Look for the clues.

• Follow the records.

• Revisit your photographs.

Because sometimes the answer isn’t missing.

It’s just been living in a different archive all along.

About my Guest

Sunny Jane Morton is a genealogy educator whose expertise includes using U.S. religious denominational records for family history. She is author of the new book, Searching for Sisters: A Guide to Researching Catholic Nuns in the United States. She is co-author of How to Find Your Family History in U.S. Church Records, which received a book award from the National Genealogical Society (NGS). She is Editor of NGS Magazine; a Contributing Editor at Family Tree Magazine; and an Associate member of the Archivists for Congregations of Women Religious.

Save on Sunny’s Books

• Save on both of Sunny’s books with coupon code Church26 at Genealogical.com

• Searching for Sisters

• How to Find Your Family History in US Church Records

You pick up a family photograph.

You stare at the faces… and they stare back.

Maybe you recognize a resemblance—a nose, a smile—but you don’t know their names. No one labeled it. Or worse, someone did… and you’re not sure it’s right.

So the question becomes:
Keep it—or toss it?

Hold that thought.

Why This Matters
Every unidentified photo is a story waiting to be told—or lost.

In my work as The Photo Detective, I’ve helped people uncover:

• The identity of unknown ancestors

• Hidden family connections

• Clues that led to entirely new branches of their tree

That “mystery photo” might be the only visual link to someone in your family story.

What You’ll Learn in This Class:

April 20th 1 pm ET. on Zoom

Approximately 2.5 to 3 hours of instruction

In The Photo Detective’s Guide to Identifying Family Photographs, I’ll show you how to:

✔ Use my 5 essential questions to put a name with a face
✔ Spot hidden clues in clothing, format, and context
✔ Combine family history research with visual analysis
✔ Understand what AI can (and can’t) do for photo identification
✔ Keep track of discoveries using simple metadata strategies

This isn’t guesswork—and it’s not an AI shortcut.

It’s a proven method.

Who This Is For:

This class is for you if:

• You have a box (or hard drive) full of unidentified photos

• You’ve inherited images with little or no information

• You want to preserve family history—not lose it

• You’re curious how AI fits into photo research

Sign up today

In my latest blog post, I explain why labeling your photographs properly today can prevent these mysteries tomorrow.

Read the full story on the blog.

One of the advantages of attending RootsTech in person is the opportunity to try new products and talk directly with the vendors who make them. One of my first stops this year was the Ancestry booth to learn more about their digitization service, AncestryPreserve.

If you’ve been wondering how the service works—and what it costs—here’s what I learned.

How Much Does It Cost?

Subscribers order a digitization box for $20 and fill it with their materials. Each box is crush-proof and includes:

• Waterproof bags for organizing items

• A welcome notice and copyright information

• Protective cushions for your contents

• Shipping to Ancestry included

You can track the shipment using the shipping number, or include an AirTag® in the box (it will be returned to you).

Before sending anything, you can estimate costs using the online calculator.

Current pricing includes:

• Slides, prints, negatives, and documents: $0.49 per image

• Video tapes and reels, DVDs/CDs, audio tapes, and audio reels: $14.99 each

Digitized video files are delivered as MP4, and audio files as MP3.

This estimate does not include return shipping for your original materials.

Items such as cardboard-backed photographs will be scanned flat.

What Happens After You Send Your Materials?

Once Ancestry receives your items—prints, negatives, slides, and home movies (VHS or film)—they will review the contents and send you an invoice for the digitization work.

According to the Ancestry website:

“Ancestry offers free minor repairs for damaged videotapes, such as replacing housings or splicing broken tape. Technicians also work to fix tracking issues (lines or jittering on screen).”

You can also choose to add AI enhancement to your digitization order for an additional cost when you receive the quote.

If an item cannot be digitized for any reason, that portion of the invoice will be refunded.

How Are the Files Delivered?

Once the scanning process is complete (images are digitized at 600 dpi) and the invoice has been paid, the digital files are added directly to your Ancestry account.

A public family tree is not required to access them.

However:

• You must maintain an Ancestry subscription to view the images in your account

• The files can be downloaded to your computer

Items are digitized in the order you placed them in the bag, but they may not appear in the same order when uploaded to your account.

How Long Does the Process Take?

• A quote typically arrives within about seven days of Ancestry receiving your materials.

• Digitization can take several weeks, depending on volume.

For more details, consult the AncestryPreserve webpage.

Things to Keep in Mind

If you’re considering the service, here are a few points genealogists should remember:

• Any metadata you add in Ancestry will not be exported with the downloaded image files.

• This service is not permanent cloud storage like that offered by Forever.

• When I asked, Ancestry representatives were uncertain how long images would remain stored on their platform.

• It is likely that the photos submitted may help train Ancestry’s AI photo tools.

Because of these factors, a good best practice is to download your images and store them locally on your hard drive or in your own digital archive.

I haven’t used the service, so I’m currently unclear what filenames will be assigned to downloaded files, so additional organization may be needed once you receive them.

She wasn’t famous. She didn’t change the course of history.

But she changed mine.

For International Women’s Day, I’m writing about my Nana—the only grandparent I truly knew. I remember the smell of Sunday pot roast, the word parlor instead of living room, her slow walk in sturdy boots, and a bright green parakeet named Tweety Bird.

What I didn’t know about her took years—and a census record—to uncover.

Nine children born. Five living. A crowded Pawtucket tenement. A father’s death. A silk wedding portrait. And a silence about her own mother that should have been a clue.

Sometimes the most powerful family stories aren’t the loud ones. They’re hidden in ordinary lives, quiet grief, and the photographs we almost overlook.

I’m sharing Nana’s story—and the research that reshaped how I understood her—on the blog today.

👉 Read the full piece here [insert link]

It wasn’t just the date—June 28, 1905—or the fact that both bride and groom were factory workers in an industrial New England city. It was the details: an Alice blue silk gown inspired by presidential fashion, a sunburst brooch, diamond cufflinks, a white parasol, and a grandfather escorting the bride down the aisle, while other family members went unmentioned.

Those small clues opened a much larger story—one of aspiration, family complexity, industrial life, and unexpected loss.

Sometimes it only takes a few lines in a newspaper to reconstruct an entire summer.

I’ve revealed the full story—including the social history behind the fashion and what happened to this couple after their hopeful beginning—on the blog.

. , None. [Between 1877 and 1880] Photograph. https://www.loc.gov/item/2011661489/.This week, I’m sharing a case study involving a uniformed man, a misleading first impression, and a Providence photographer whose career path reveals the truth.

The imprint belonged to Augustus Ephraim Alden, and tracing his studio moves unlocked the timeline.

If you’ve ever dated a photo based on clothing alone, you’ll want to see how this unfolded.

Full breakdown is now

live on my blog.

I live in the smallest state—Rhode Island. It’s possible to drive from one end of the state to the other in an hour. Yep. It’s true. Instead of a state, it feels like a big interconnected family.

When Ocean State Media contacted me as president of the Rhode Island Genealogical Society to be on a panel to discuss Happy Land, the 2026 Reading Across Rhode Island selection, I immediately said yes. It’s historical fiction with genealogical themes. As a genealogist and historian, I tend to judge the accuracy of the history and, in this case, the research.

The novel explores how the past shapes identity in the present, weaving together themes of inheritance, belonging, and the search for ancestral truth. At its heart is a genealogical journey—one that asks how we reconstruct lives from fragments and how stories passed down (or silenced) influence generations.

Dolen Perkins-Valdez gets it right. The mystery of finding our roots, the thrilling chase to learn more, and the emotional connection to our past.

It features a utopian community in North Carolina founded by freed slaves after the Civil War. Nothing to do with my little state, and yet the themes are universal. It is about context—understanding social conditions, migration patterns, economic forces, and cultural traditions. In Happy Land, land ownership and generational ties become central to identity. Audience members expressed renewed interest in exploring their own family histories after seeing how powerfully ancestry shapes the characters’ lives.

The discussion demonstrated how genealogy connects literature, history, and personal discovery—reminding us that the past is not distant, but deeply woven into who we are today. And because it’s RI, I might have met a distant cousin or two.

The handwritten caption on the back reads “ Miss Odie Morse.” Other pencil writings on the reverse suggest that someone was practicing their handwriting. The date in the cataloging record says 1860-1870. Nope. Not even close. Let’s look at the image.

This image shows a woman in a full-sleeved dress, with a wide collar and an asymmetrical hat resting on her head. It definitely doesn’t date from the 1860s. The sleeves are the giveaway. Those full sleeves date from the 1890s. Here’s an enhanced version of the image using Nano Banana so that you can see the detail.

The photographer Anthony Haden Blunt wasn’t in business in the 1860s. He opened his studio in the 1880s, and by the late 1890s, he’d left Danville for another market.

A simple photo dating mistake can misattribute identity, leading to family history mix-ups.

There is an Odie Morse on a death certificate for her daughter Odie Page, who died at 11 on January 24, 2025. Odie’s husband was Bill Page.

The date for this photo. The mid-1890s.

If you’re lucky, you have multiple images of family members from previous generations.

• Try creating a timeline of images from their life, in date order. Not sure when a photo was taken? The other photos can supply that context.

• Add those photos to your research timeline. I never work on a branch of my family without a series of timelines that help me create a list of research avenues to explore.

Decades ago, a cousin on my Dad’s side reached out and said he was interested in genealogy. My Mom immediately weighed in on meeting him. “He’s nothing but trouble.” Of course, I asked why. She responded. “He attends funerals and asks questions.” Ah…I thought—a genealogist.

He wasn’t on Ancestry.com. Didn’t do a DNA test. Instead, he kept handwritten notebooks of all the information he collected, arranged by family groups. He let me copy them.

Then he moved, and we lost touch. The names in those books were people I didn’t recognize.

Now I do. Those folks are descendants of my great-grandparents. And all that information is now invaluable for figuring out DNA matches on that side of the family.

Edward Kelly, while you didn’t use modern techniques to trace your family tree, you kept track of all your cousins. He visited town halls and cited every book and page. He also chatted up folks at funerals and weddings, and clipped the news from local papers.

Thank you! Wish you were still here. I have a few questions.

In this image of my grandmother, I’ve embedded metadata about location, people, and a description. It’s my test image for metadata.

I used Nano Banana to enhance and restore the image's colors. In my new class, Revitalize Your Family Photos with Vivid-Pix Restore, MyHeritage.com, and Nano Banana, I show you how to tackle complex and straightforward fixes. We cover a whole lot of topics, from privacy to citations.

In the lower right-hand corner, you can see the icon that Nano Banana uses to mark that this is an AI enhancement. When downloaded, the file name includes Gemini. The metadata isn’t there anymore. You’ll have to add this image to your photo organizer and add it again.

File Names

While you’re doing that, amend the file name as well. Example: Wilson_Eliza, Gemini_Generated Image_1 Dec 2025. Since AI models change frequently, the date serves as a reminder of which model you used.

I fell for it. The lure of AI altered and enhanced images. Perhaps you have too.

Periodically, I check into ChatGPT and try to enhance or generate an image. The cover image includes details I provided about my 2x great-grandfather, James Wilson, regarding his Civil War service and the ships he served on. For image reference, I uploaded an image of his son. I don’t have a photo of James.

It’s a nice picture, but historically inaccurate, and I doubt my 2x great-grandfather looked like this.

Statement on Protecting Trust in Historical Images

On November 4th, the Coalition for Responsible AI in Genealogy published an official statement on the topic. You can read it here

When you use MyHeritage.com to enhance, colorize, or animate a photograph, icons appear on the image. ChatGPT doesn’t do that. Whether or not an image is the original is in the eye of the beholder.

Can you spot it? Perhaps. Even if you can now, you likely won’t be able to do so in the future. The technology is getting better.

The Coalition is asking users to take matters into their own hands by doing the following:

1. Always label. Provide a human-readable label stating that the image was modified or generated.

2. Always cite. Note the original source and that the image was modified or generated.

3. Use as Illustration, not Evidence. This is a very good point. Altered and generated images are not historical fact. Even enhanced family photos can include some untruths.

Two Additional Points

In addition to these three points, I’d suggest the following:

• Date the Image. Include the date of the modification or creation of the image for clarity. AI models are constantly evolving, so noting when you created or enhanced an image may become important.

• Use Metadata. Include the citation in the metadata, including the date and the AI model.