old.

I love old stuff. I'm not much of a collector of old stuff, but I love to peruse antique shops, thrift stores, and flea markets. And I especially love old buildings. Buildings with hundreds of years of history. Structures with stories to tell. Barns and churches are my favorites. The more derelict and dilapidated, the better.

I have been eying this particular church for at least five years. It stands on a lonesome corner property at the fork of a backwoods highway and a red dirt road, somewhere between Jackson and Monticello, Georgia. Every time I round the bend and the church comes into view, its beauty grabs my attention and begs me to stop. For five years, I've just kept on driving. But last Sunday, something made me stop. And I'm glad that I did.


With no steeple or stained glass, I wasn't even certain that it was a church. Until I found this sign. It's a little too rusted to read, but it says something about "meets 4th Sunday". According to my father-in-law, churches back in the day would only gather once a month for service.


I think P liked the church as much as I did. He loved the steep, concrete steps that led to one of the four church doors. Two in the front of the congregation, two in the back. We didn't dare try to enter, though. We were already trespassing.


It is delightfully plain, with its rusted tin roof and weathered clapboard siding. But it is simply beautiful. And old. Which makes it that much more exquisite. Our stop was cut short due to the setting sun and a drained camera battery, but I will definitely be revisiting this place sometime very soon.