The photograph of Helen and Alice Dickerson, titled: Pioneer Sisters, was taken as part of a story that I was writing for a paper on Folk tales from the Buckhorn Canyon in Northern Colorado .
The sisters were well known on the Buckhorn. Their ranch was the furthest up the canyon, after their place you cross Pinnock Pass that takes you out of the Buckhorn.
They lived alone and while they were self-sufficient, had guns and managed in country where the Forest Rangers went home in winter, they were somewhat vulnerable.
The first time I went to interview them, I wasn’t certain what to expect. I had lived about 10 miles lower in the canyon for several years but that was years ago and while I had known of them and even worked with them on fighting forest fires, I had never met them.
Their house was a small log home… actually small in size but also made with small logs. There was an entry area before the front door, kind of a mud room. I knocked on the outer door and could see them peeking at me through the front window, I tried not to look in order to let them check me out. Soon one of them spoke through the front door and asked what I wanted.
At first, I tried to explain what I wanted but realized it wouldn’t make sense through the two doors so I said, “Dud Watson told me to say Hi”. They answered back, “How do you know Dud”? I told them that we ranched with him and I used to live on the old Ralph Derby place. That seemed to ring a bell and they said, “Are you the kid who got snake bit”? I was so, I replied “yes”, the door was open and they greeted me like a long lost friend.
Years before, I had gained local notoriety when I was bitten by a rattle snake. Nothing brave, just a dumb kid not looking down and stepped on a confused rattler flushed out from the weeds we were burning. Who would have thought it would open the door to these ladies and their world of local stories.
We talked for hours and shared stories of the Buckhorn. They offered me dinner but I really needed to go so, I asked if I could come back and talk more and if they could tell me some stories about them, their uncle Alan and other characters from the Buckhorn Canyon. They enthusiastically said “yes”. For a little over a year, I visited them 2 or 3 times a month and traded stories. They would often serve lunch or dinner. My favorite was venison sausage, Helen would take it from the freezer and cut it using a cleaver and a hammer. I have a picture of her doing it. Alice and I would fix fence, cut and split firewood and, in winter, I’d help dig the path to the outhouse and we’d talk.
They were slow to ask but they often needed supplies so, I would bring items that I knew they needed or wanted, like art supplies. Helen used glue to put real twigs on her paintings to give them dimension, Alice could always use fence staples and nails for minor repairs. She got so excited once when I brought new galvanized staples. She looked at them like they were gems but she still dumped them in with the old rusty ones in the tin can we worked from when fixing fence.
Sometimes I would bring food so we wouldn’t use up their supplies though between hunting and an enormous garden, they managed very well. They mostly appreciated fresh vegetables in the winter and bacon.
There was propane in a tank that a truck came to fill for their gas freezers but they had two small tanks that they used to run the generator for operating electric tools. They never used it for lights or other household things. The tools were for woodworking, mainly a sander and a Dremel like tool. I would take one of the tanks with me when it was empty and bring it back full.
They always seemed to think I was doing stuff for them, they would try to give me things. They knew I was mainly a photographer and offered to give me some of the camera equipment that Alice photographed with and had, I think, belonged to their father. I couldn’t take them because they are actually quite valuable and the photos I had taken and the stories I had transcribed were more enriching than I could explain. With a sincerity that I couldn’t refuse, they gave me Alice’s old snowshoes and a “pussytoe” (their name for a stuffed bobcat foot) which they used to sell in their store as a lucky charm, I still have those items!
They had lots of friends though I never met any during my visits. Once there was a man tilling their garden and I thought I’d meet him when lunch rolled around but he never came to the house. I was usually there during the week, other friends must have visited on weekends.
A few years later they had even more friends, almost like a cause that people would join in to help around the homestead with repairs, gathering firewood and getting the garden prepped and planted.
At one time they had a telephone but the line had been cut. They didn’t understand why they couldn’t just splice it back together, I didn’t either. Apparently it was more complicated than that and involved the service
but several friends were working on getting it back by talking to the right people. They showed me letters between them all. They liked the phone but more important, I think, they enjoyed that people cared about them.
I had gone there to gather folk tales from the area and learn about the people but the sisters had become the story. Plus, as a photographer they were great subjects! When I finished the paper on the folk tales and a photo story, I showed it to them, they made a few corrections and enjoyed reading the other tales from people on the Buckhorn.
I talked to them about submitting their story to a magazine. Local and regional newspapers had written segments of their story before and they seemed to enjoy the attention but they were concerned to have strangers knowing about them. They asked if I’d not do it and in a kind of odd request, esp. as I look back on it, Helen said, “or wait until we are dead”. Alice agreed but was smiling and winked.
My life was changing during this time. I had taken a couple of years off, after selling my photo studio, to finish college, one of those goals left behind almost 20 years before. It was time to move on, I was enriched and ready to restart and was moving to Washington State.
On my last visit to see the sisters, I took one of my studio cameras and set up a photo of them that came to me as the illustration to tell their story. That is the photograph: “Pioneer Sisters”. They gave me permission to use the photo in my portfolio and to submit in my Professional competitions. I entered and it won but I couldn’t tell the full the story. I am proud that the photo stands on its own and every time I look at it, I smile at the great memories I have of my time visiting with, talking to and learning from them.
Many years after those times, there was a book written in collaboration with Alice, Helen had died, about them: Apples of the Mummy’s Eye: The Dickerson Sisters. It is a delightful book and I enjoy seeing the total story of which I was given a special glimpse.
I’ve never submitted the story for publication but I did get recognition for the photograph and in 2015, it won a contest that gave me a one year contract with Great American Country (GACTV).