Some of my earliest memories were formed at St. Michael the Archangel Church on the River Road on the east bank of the Mississippi River in St. James Parish, Louisiana. The Gothic red brick building seemed monstrous to me as a child—the inside dark, solemn, and intimidating. I recall lighting candles in the grotto for loved ones I’d lost, burying relatives in the centuries-old cemetery, and frequently dipping my fingers in the Holy Water.
So when I walked into the church this past December, this time for a story, all my memories came rushing back to me with the smell of candlewax and old carpet, and the spirits of my grandparents, who were members for decades. It’s the smell of my youth, and the smell of history.
Read the full, original story on SavingPlaces.org.