Mama King tediously placed photos in the sticky albums. She wrote on the pages who was in the pictures. She had a couple dozen albums full. I remember watching her assemble some of them at a folding table in the den when I was a little girl. I picked one up every time I was at her house. The first thing I thought of when the house burned (after the safety of my elderly aunts) was those albums. They were in the room where the fire started, and I had always assumed they were incinerated . . . until my first cousin and I cleaned out the sheds behind the house in the summer of 2013. We found a box chock full of burnt pictures. Obviously, a couple of books had mostly survived and someone had pulled the pictures out and saved them. What an unfathomable treasure. Priceless. Priceless. Priceless.
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