The church and the surrounding plaza, both made of dirt, seemed almost one, as if the irregular planes of the adobe structure had naturally risen from the earth. There was no denying the simple elegance of one of New Mexico’s most powerful and luminous landmarks, the Church of San Francisco de Asis at Ranchos de Taos.
In the early morning light, set against a clear, blue sky, is was easy to understand why the World Heritage Site was . . .
In the early morning light, set against a clear, blue sky, is was easy to understand why the World Heritage Site was . . .
. . . one of the most photographed, sketched, and painted structures in the United States. Painters Georgia O’Keeffe and John Marin, photographers Ansel Adams and Paul Strand – all had been drawn to the natural shapes of the apse and the buttresses, to the organic nature of the 18th century Spanish mission church. I was no exception, despite my ineptitude in the company of such cultural giants.
 Photo courtesy of Andrew Collins. I missed this viewpoint entirely. Woe is me. |  Georgia O'Keeffe's interpretation of the Church of San Francisco de Asis, courtesy of Wikipedia. |
The Ranchos church was an imposing anchor in the midst of a very modest plaza seemingly untouched by the last two hundred years. Standing in that dirt plaza in the shadow of this adobe church, an important center of community life then and now, I could sense the influence Spain’s imperial power had had on the Pueblo of this region (New Mexico’s history is inextricably tied to the Catholic Church) and the intimate connection in the Spanish mind between religion and everyday life.
The simple adobe homes in the plaza surrounding the church.
The first revolt against the Spaniards seeking to claim these lands, the Pueblo Revolt of 1680, had been initiated at Taos and had resulted in a short-lived, 13-year reprieve for native Pueblo people before the Spaniards returned for good.
No revolts the morning of our visit with the exception of the rising sun beating back the dark of night. The mission style church was our last stop on a whirlwind 36 hours in Taos. If not for my persistence we’d have missed the World Heritage Site just off the main road running through Taos, Highway 68. Bereft of any fanfare, we’d missed the entrance to the plaza that has been home to the National Landmark since completion of the church in 1815.
“We need to turn around, Jimmy!”
With the famed Taos Plaza in our rear view mirror, Jimmy was in destination versus journey mode. I was in manic mode, the desire to see this National Landmark, to lend my interpretation to this iconic structure greater than any obstacle standing in my way, including one road warrior with a lead foot. Of course, Jimmy knows, too, that I can’t take just one picture.
“Ten minutes,” Jimmy warned as he parked the car adjacent to the church after five minutes of driving the maze of narrow avenues surrounding the Ranchos plaza.
I made no attempt to acknowledge his directive as I exited the vehicle, my excitement already too much for words.
No revolts the morning of our visit with the exception of the rising sun beating back the dark of night. The mission style church was our last stop on a whirlwind 36 hours in Taos. If not for my persistence we’d have missed the World Heritage Site just off the main road running through Taos, Highway 68. Bereft of any fanfare, we’d missed the entrance to the plaza that has been home to the National Landmark since completion of the church in 1815.
“We need to turn around, Jimmy!”
With the famed Taos Plaza in our rear view mirror, Jimmy was in destination versus journey mode. I was in manic mode, the desire to see this National Landmark, to lend my interpretation to this iconic structure greater than any obstacle standing in my way, including one road warrior with a lead foot. Of course, Jimmy knows, too, that I can’t take just one picture.
“Ten minutes,” Jimmy warned as he parked the car adjacent to the church after five minutes of driving the maze of narrow avenues surrounding the Ranchos plaza.
I made no attempt to acknowledge his directive as I exited the vehicle, my excitement already too much for words.
Here was history, heritage, and culture all elegantly displayed using adobe bricks; mud and straw, hearts and hands have been the mortar for both the past as well as the present.
The annual practice of re-mudding, also called enjarre, continues today, provided by parishioners and community members to protect the 200-year-old church from weather damage. I could see remnants of the straw in the wall surrounding the church.
A major renovation to the church in the 1960s included a covering of stucco cement, which proved disastrous for the earthen foundation by 1979. Microscopic cracks created with the expansion and contraction of the adobe wall during changes in the weather and temperature had hydrostatically drawn water into the wall, undermining the stability of the adobe structure beneath the stucco cement. The stucco was removed and the ancient practice of enjarre reinstituted. As they say, if it ain’t broken, don’t fix it!!
All looked perfect the morning of our visit; and very quiet, our only companions St. Francis and Our Lady of Guadalupe.
A major renovation to the church in the 1960s included a covering of stucco cement, which proved disastrous for the earthen foundation by 1979. Microscopic cracks created with the expansion and contraction of the adobe wall during changes in the weather and temperature had hydrostatically drawn water into the wall, undermining the stability of the adobe structure beneath the stucco cement. The stucco was removed and the ancient practice of enjarre reinstituted. As they say, if it ain’t broken, don’t fix it!!
All looked perfect the morning of our visit; and very quiet, our only companions St. Francis and Our Lady of Guadalupe.
 |  With no access to the interior of the church, Jimmy and I walked the grounds, enjoying the peaceful start to our day and the comfort of His divine presence as we continued on our way. |
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