I remember when I first saw this church. I was just starting my trip across Canada. I was traveling alone, making my way from Vancouver to the Yukon. I had no agenda and no time frame.
I had only been traveling for about three hours and I had stopped plenty of times to take photos of the lush landscape. Driving along the Trans Canada Highway with green trees and summer grasses on either side of me, I was surprised at the drastic change in the land of the Thompson-Nicola region. I felt like I rounded a corner and all of a sudden I was in a dessert. The view that now surrounded me was what I had always imagined Montana to look like: beige and grey hills with few trees and only patches of sagebrush and the odd bits of wild, withered grasses.
I spotted the church and stopped. It was a hot day with a scorching wind blowing. There was no one around and it was eerily quiet. The door of the church was slightly open and moving with the wind. I called out but there was no answer. I took a good number of photos of the church that day. I really liked the colour of the different wood against the blue of the sky and the fact that the church stood all alone amongst the dry, dusty, sagebrush.