Photos, memories and longing: the curse of the iPhone’s algorithm
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| The view across Lake Winnipeg from Clifftop Cottage |
I have a love-hate relationship with my iPhone’s ‘photo memory’ feature. It shows me pictures from my camera roll, popping them onto my screen in a pattern known only to its own algorithm. I enjoy the ones of my late mother, to each of which I respond, Oh hello there, Mum. Good to see you. But when the phone selects one of the zillions of photos I took at the cottage, I am annoyed. They are lovely photos of a lovely spot, but having the picture appear unbidden always, every single time, reminds me of what I no longer have access to.
Selling the cottage was necessary, and selling the cottage changed how we live. We gave up so much more than just a structure on a piece of land, we gave up a way of life with nature at its heart. It came with an amazing view over Lake Winnipeg; a public reserve next door where deer wandered, birds sang and foxes marauded; and space in which to breathe deeply. In short, we gave up the luxury of doorstep-close nature in the wild.
Had I known when we bought this second cottage what I now know about the deep delights of living so close to nature, I wonder if we would have chosen differently. I wonder if we might have sold the city house, sold the first cottage, and combined the proceeds to buy a new home on a piece of land, maybe several acres, outside the city. My fantasy says it would have been grand; the reality might have been different. I’ll never know. While I loved every minute of the 15 years we owned Clifftop Cottage, on a not-so-good day in the city, I regret the choice we made in buying it back then, regret we did not explore a different option.
Maybe this explains why I don’t have photos of the cottage displayed on every surface in our city house. The cottage was then. Our small urban home is now. The acres of land have never been. Living in the longing of being where I can no longer be, will never be again, is not useful for me. And every photo-memory of the lake view and our cottage life makes me re-know this in an unexpected moment when it shows up unbidden on my screen. So, I swipe across and carry on with my city day.
Photos can trigger many different kinds of memories — welcome, painful, annoying, unwanted. I take a zillion photos with my iPhone, but I want to choose when to look at them. When my memory is jogged unbidden and the resulting feeling is unwanted, it takes me aback rather than down a happily nostalgic lane.
The internet tells me I can turn off the photo memory feature, and maybe I’ll do that, though I probably won’t. I’ll put up with the occasional unexpected cottage memory for the occasional joyful one when it’s my mother who pops onto my screen. On balance, she makes up for everything.
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Land acknowledgement: I respectfully recognize that I live on the original lands of Anishinaabe, Cree, Oji-Cree, Dakota and Dene peoples, and on the homeland of the Métis Nation.
The cottage sounds lovely. No wonder you miss it. I have a similar response to Facebook memories of a former home, especially now that we're living in a community where we're required to conform to a set of rules that includes the color we may paint our front door. But then a photo of someone I love pops up. And like you, I say, "Oh, hello there. Good to see you."
ReplyDeleteAge is a bandit that silently steals our most precious assets. I was raised by a biology family, my father being a PhD biologist and my childhood spent immersed in Nature. As I grew older, I worked so hard to retain that luxury, first canoeing untamed rivers (Manitoba has so many), living in tents and cooking on campfires. We once went to a lake that takes two hours of paddling to reach just so our six-month-old daughter could get a concerning temperature and to turn around and paddle back out the next day. Were we crazy or just inspired? Later we bought a travel trailer and reserved campsites at various MB lakes, spending weeks at a time at lakeside sites. When that became too much work, we moved onto to renting cottages which will inevitably become the final curtain call in our quest to live in unblemished Nature.
ReplyDeleteBut Mother Nature will always be in my soul and will never abandon me. As long as I continue to breathe, there will be gardens, after which there will be windowsill flower beds. There will be birdfeeders and birdbaths, and She and her sparrows and butterflies and wolf spiders will continue to visit me. A cottage is a lot to lose. Oh man, how I miss the Manigotagan River, but I know I will never see it again. But when we feel that sadness, knowing we live on a beautiful street in a tree-filled city that supports Nature in all its splendor is the salve that can cure those discomforts. And if you really need a fix, you could always pack up a picnic, jump in the car, visit the old cottage, and take a walk through the reserve. The deer and the birds and the foxes will still be there to welcome you back.
I love this response especially the last beautiful line.
DeletePhone photos always at hand. I now keep a rare handful on display around the house. Time has gathered enough changes with age, circumstance and distance, the few I keep are ones are only to make me smile, not nostalgic. I take many photos with the ease of the iPhone, and like yours, they cycle and pop up on a little square screen, some have music attached and so on and so be it. I love the pic of the lake view with a simple coffee cup which opens the door for why it sits where it is. The 15 years was certainly a gift, a picture to display. Thank you for sharing.
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