I've made hundreds of images over the years of old abandoned homesteads, houses and barns. I am intrigued, not just by the buildings, but by the lives of the people who may have lived and worked in them.  I often imagine a story, a scenario of what might have been inside these crumbling walls, giving breath once again to the people who called it home. These are my stories, brief glimpses into the past. Continuation of series, images 9-12.

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She was 12 years old when the pipe was passed and she was traded for a horse. 14 when she had her first child. Her work at the fort was not so different from that she left behind. Sewing moccasins, netting snowshoes, stretching hides. She worked hard. A lazy native woman would find herself quickly abandoned for another.
If the Walls Could Talk series #9

Window to the PastShe was 12 years old when the pipe was passed and she was traded for a horse. 14 when she had her first child. Her work at the fort was not so different from that she left behind. Sewing moccasins, netting snowshoes, stretching hides. She worked hard. A lazy native woman would find herself quickly abandoned for another.
If the Walls Could Talk series #9

It was packed to the rafters on Sundays. Preacher was fire and brimstone. Then the mine closed. Them that could moved away. All's left now is a handful of us old timers. Preacher's got a whole lotta less fire these days, too.
If the Walls Could Talk series #10 

The Church on the RiverIt was packed to the rafters on Sundays. Preacher was fire and brimstone. Then the mine closed. Them that could moved away. All's left now is a handful of us old timers. Preacher's got a whole lotta less fire these days, too.
If the Walls Could Talk series #10

Road muddy as a pig wallow after all this rain, slowing us down. Midwife in the wagon beside me. Worried we won't get there in time. Worried for Sarah and the babe.
If the Walls Could Talk series #11

They called us Broomcorn Johnnies. Mostly Hispanics and Native Americans coming from Oklahoma and Texas to work the broomcorn harvest, grown for its bristles to make brooms. I made my first trip to Colorado with my father in 1942. I was 14 years old. It was dusty, itchy, dirty work, but by 1960 we were making a good wage, nine dollars a day and we didn’t have to sleep in the fields anymore, the ranch provided housing.

Housing at the abandoned Stonington Broomcorn Ranch, Baca County, Colorado

If the Walls Could Talk series #12

To be continued...