Three generations of the Taylors on vacation at Camp Lake, Minnesota.
August 1st, 1946.
Back row left to right first is my Uncle Zenas, a WWII veteran and, by this time, a long-time California resident, hence the stylin' striped shirt.
Then my dad with his shirt buttoned to the cuffs but at least with an open neck.
Mom, looking vacation stylish.
My great-aunt Eliza, dressed and hatted formally, as I always remember her.
She lived in Los Angeles but I don't think she ever lost her 19th Century upbringing in Minnesota.
And the patriarch, my grandfather, Berthold Wayne Taylor, better known as B.W.
He's the only one wearing a necktie, perhaps befitting him as the senior member of this clan.
In the front row are the only two current survivors, though my brother Wayne and I are both in our elder years now.
You'd never known from the sober expressions on those faces that this was a vacation and supposedly a happy time, would you?
'Course it could have been because this may have been the final day of fun and frolic and we were preparing for the nearly 500 mile drive back to home in North Dakota.
Probably 7 people in one car would have been a bit much for anyone to look to with a sense of glee.
