When I went to bed last night, I was considering a morning road trip, just to get out of the house a bit with the camera, with some hopes I might find some lovely snowy scene to photograph. I wasn’t committed, but it sounded like a nice morning pursuit.

When I awoke around 6 this morning, I checked the weather app on my phone, and it said that snow was expected in the hour for Albuquerque. I checked outside from my bedroom window, and sure enough, there was white stuff on the the bushes and the ground that was not under awning cover.

Snow had happened.

What do I do with this? Do I head north toward Santa Fe on 25? Do I head out towards the Salinas Pueblo Missions again? I didn’t know.

I made coffee, packed gear, dressed warm, and got in the truck and headed out into the darkness- to the gas station, where I filled up, and knew I had to make a decision…

My decision led me first back to the church at Isleta Pueblo, and then on southeast to Tomé.

I chose Isleta because on my last visit to the San Augustin church, I was acutely shy, and did not use my camera at all there out of respect for the local rules. Researching in the last week, though, I realized that it was okay to photograph at and in the church.

And maybe as the sun rose, there would be snow on the ground around it.

I headed south on 25 and then exited onto the village road west of the river that took me by a bunch of homes with attached fields until I entered the village proper, and rolled up to the church. The sun was just coming up- but there was no snow.

That’s okay.

I decided to just get out and go for it, taking my camera into the courtyard to look for exterior shots.

Musicians for the early mass carrying instruments arrived as I was scouting photos, and they greeted me. A woman among them invited me inside. I may take a few photos? Yes. Come in.

So I did.

The musicians headed through a door in the foyer that took them into the balcony over it.

Entering the church after them, an older man passed me and nodded hello and dotted his head with the water and said a prayer and then made his way to a pew seat near the front of the sanctuary.

I slowly walked up the central aisle and took a few photos, and soon, I was near the man in the pew.

We exchanged greetings again, and soon, after a quiet 15 minute conversation, I knew a little about him.

His name was George, and he had been born in Montana in the late 1930’s. When he was young, his father died, and his mother packed he and his six other siblings up and they all headed back to Pennsylvania where she was funny. They shared a house with the family of one of her relatives. George was young when the second world war started, and he and his brothers used to survey trash and constructions sites for discarded metals they could sell to help contribute to the family finances. George joined the Air Force after high school and ended up at Vandenberg Air Force Base in California, where he worked on missile launch teams in the 1970’s, at one time supporting Titan 2 rockets, one of which he got to help launch once.

Early in his Air Force career, he was meeting some friends one night for dinner on base, and so he headed to the “stag bar” where they were connecting when, outside of it, he ran into some other friends who introduced him to a woman with them. He curtly dismissed himself from them and the woman, but in the guys-only bar, he kicked himself- he was rude and needed to correct his behavior before the lady. He at first thought she was married to another friend that that group said they were waiting on, but when he went out to apologize for his behavior to them and her, he learned she was not. And the rest of the night was hers- he forgot his dinner plans.

The woman was from Isleta Pueblo, and she was also a Harvey Girl, and she had just been visiting in town for the weekend.

They dated for a few months and then he proposed to her, and they married.

They were married 54 years, George told me, and after he retired from the Air Force, they moved back to the Pueblo, where he found he was part of a strong, good family. He said adjusting to the new life on the pueblo was not terribly hard.

He and his wife had several children, and as we talked and I was telling him about my interest in New Mexico and photography, a tall, solid man with darker skin and gray hair and silver rings on his fingers came and sat by him. “This is my son Joe. He likes photography too, and making jewelry.”

George helped me feel welcome in the church. A few times a priest came out of a door near the front of the church, in front of the chancel, and looked around, and surveyed me. George just smiled and talked with me quietly.

Aware the 8 AM service was approaching, I thanked George for his hospitality and his story and wished him a fine day, and then I made my way back up the center aisle and took a few photos of the sanctuary stain glass windows before I was in the back foyer, from where I took a few more photos, and then exited the building.

Outside, cars were trickling in to the lot in front of the church, and overhead I could hear an unusual song- the chatter of cranes, wave after wave of them, chattering as their echelons passed over the church and the nearby bosque. So many birds were up in the chilly winter air and light, heading south, looking for breakfast fields.

After my time at the church, I filled the rest of the morning with a drive on some other back roads through Isleta, taking photos here and there of potentially interesting subjects: trees, old houses, clean fields, cranes eating, bison, dogs, acequias, horses standing and staring, clouds. The gray-white skies of the winter morning gave way to golden light for a few hours, but white clouds hung over the mountains in the east.

I found my way out of Isleta and into Bosque Farms where I stopped for a Blake’s burrito, and then to look at a Catholic church in town.

With a few hours to fill after breakfast, I thought about heading on over to Abo, but NM 47 led me to Tomé on the way to Abo, and I had never been to Tomé.

Entering the village, I widely passed the famous hill with the calvario on it. And I knew there was that famous church around here.

So, the rest of the morning went to Tomé.

A sign told me that the turn off to Immaculate Conception Church was ahead, and I took it, getting there just in time for the start of the late morning mass. The lot and drives around the church were packed with cars, and others were still arriving when I parked. The church bells rang in the start of the service. Ushers held the entry doors open for worshipers arriving. I took a walk around a loop by the church to let folks get into the service before I went in the courtyard. On the far side of the loop was a building dated 1875, and evidently remnants of the jail for the village built at that time. It did not look like a comfortable place to wait issues out.

When the service was well on its way, I went back to the church for some pictures of the building.

After a visit to the church, I went to find Tomé Hill, and whatever it had to offer visitors. A round about drive on a few back roads took me on a wide curve to the foot of the hill with the three crosses on them.

A nice treat at the base of the hill was a sizable sculpture by artist Armando Alvarez entitled “La Puerta del Sol”, which featured metal images of Spanish, natives, and settlers coming up and through a giant wishbone shaped arch facing the crosses on top of the hill. Alvarez wanted by this work to commemorate the many people who traveled up and down the El Camino Reál throughout its run as the principal north-south route between New Spain and its northern frontier. I was impressed with the concept and execution of this outdoor piece.

I was parked at Tomé Hill, there was a trail, I had some time. There was nothing left for me to do but to climb it and visit the crosses.

Once on top, not only were the crosses interesting with the makeshift altar and shrine with them, but the 360 view of the locale was amazing. Clouds were blanketing the mountains to the east, and streaks of rain and snow were clear around some of them. There was a distinct line to the south where the green of Tomé crop and grazing fields ended and the brown of desert began. Dark clouds roamed thick to the northwest. A raven watched me as it flew around and under and near the hilltop.

While I was on top, the sky darkened a bit, and it was time for me to come down and head home to clean up for a 2PM game group.

Suitably, when I got down off of the hill and off the trail and into my truck, it started to snow for a short while. I started my truck and checked the Map app on my phone for a return route to NM 47, and then said goodbye to the crosses on the hill and drove off around and away from it.