This quaint little church sits just off Highway 97, close enough you can hear the trucks, far enough the gravel crunch under your tires feels like crossing a small border. Easy to miss now that the trees around it have grown in thick, but it’s well cared for, and the nearby town clearly loves it.

The Grass Valley Methodist Church. Small, specific, grounded. Someone sweeps the floor, patches the paint, keeps the graffiti off it.

You’re allowed to just look, listen, and leave.