I know, I know. Give it up with the Montrose church, already.
Oh, how I have a love affair with the Montrose Church.
And I think this image makes it clear why.
I have spent time at both the Montrose Catholic Church, as well as Ray Semroska’s home; that said, I found the presence of Ray’s headstone in the cemetery of the church, accompanied by a small visage of the Virgin, both eerie and telling. The Semroskas are perhaps 5 percent of the entire plots, and on their hill, those overlook the long, high prairie as its winds and time pass the tiny sets of gravestones–and the traditions they represent–quietly by.
I wandered into the Semroska’s kitchen as my class made portraits of Ray and Doreen, life ranchers in western Nebraska. Ray’s lunch of fried chicken, potatoes and gravy sat waiting on the stove, and with it I found the winter prairie colored paint in the room a tempting combination for a photo.
In an earlier post, I showed an image depicting the passage of time over the Montrose Catholic Church, and its small cemetery, which details another set of passages for the ranching families in the area. Today’s image is from inside the church, where a sparse interior, lack of running water, and no heat accompany parishioners beyond their greeting by the figures of the Virgin and Jesus Christ. The photo seems to exhibit barrel distortion from a wide angle lens, but this is an illusion: over its more than one hundred years, the floor of the building has sagged toward the outside walls, adding one more testament of years to which the building has borne silent witness.
The Montrose Catholic Church has no heat and no plumbing, but it is a focal gathering point for many of the ranch families in the back country of Sioux County. Time passes slowly here, and the long exposure of this image shows how the lonely structure and tiny cemetery have been silent observers to the myriad changes in the attending and adapting ranching families of the area for over 140 years.