When I was a little kid, my family attended Forrest Heights Methodist Church. We were regulars, the sort of family who sat in the same pew every week. The church sanctuary was the first built space I had a strong affection for – the mid-century lines and combination of building materials felt right to me. I liked the light fixtures, too; they were big and stately and (to me) very church-like.
Not at all like this light, which looks like it should be hanging over Great Aunt Mabel’s kitchen table.
in abandoned church
Grenville, New Mexico
A few years ago, my friend Martha and I decided to drive from El Paso, where we were spending the weekend, to White Sands National Monument. That’s about a hour-and-a-half of driving.
We left right after breakfast. Instead of taking the Interstate, we went on New Mexico highway 28, a noted scenic route. That should have added about 30 minutes to our trip.
But we stopped. We stopped to look at an adobe barn. A pecan orchard. A church. We stopped in a little town where the church was having a festival*. We stopped for lunch. And etc.
So by the time we eventually made it to White Sands, it was very late in the afternoon. Most of the day’s visitors had already left. But the storm clouds were still hanging around, and the sun obligingly lit a band of sand in the distance.
White Sands National Monument
near Alamogordo, New Mexico
*At the town with the festival, we were turned away from a parking lot that was, we were told, for church members only. We weren’t sure what identified us so readily as non-members, although we did come up with several options.