The patron saint of farming

LAS MESITAS, Colo. — The husk of a church rises up, seemingly scraping the low, heavy clouds. The hollowed-out sanctuary is open to the whipping wind and a smattering of raindrops. 

Gutted by fire in 1975, the bones of the mission-style San Isidro Catholic Church remain, purple cowslip and grasses sprouting in the aisles. Empty sockets display gray clouds — it’s been nearly 50 years since the stained glass windows melted in the blaze. 

Built nearly a century and a half ago in 1878, the church is named for the patron saint of farming — a practice that isn’t so easy as the water dries up, drought after drought.

Chris and Lucilla Cisneros, married for 55 years, live just up the road from the church in Cañon Bonito RV Park, and they’ve cared for the little graveyard for decades. 

They tell the history of the church, raising their voices to be heard over the scrape of the shovel on gravel, stacking rocks over a grave and ripping tumbleweeds from enclosures around plots. 

“This is something we do out of love,” Lucilla said, fixing a silk and plastic bunch of cornflower-blue hyacinths on a grave. “We’ve been here 35 years, putting on little flowers, cleaning up a bit.” 

Chris is a painter and carver, making creations for the area churches. One was a 4-by-5-foot depiction of San Isidro, garden tool in hand. Another was a carving into a downed aspen near their home of Christ on the cross. He was inspired by the shape of the felled tree. “Its arms were already outspread,” he said.

But they’re starting to think of retirement, noting that the work is harder, and the land has changed around them. The Conejos River, a tributary of the Rio Grande, doesn’t run as strong, Lucilla said, and the snow is blown away each year, leaving thirsty earth behind. 

“Before, we could plant a garden, and you’d hardly have to irrigate it because the rain would take care of it,” Chris said. “Now you can’t grow nothing hardly, because it didn’t rain this last year.” 

On months with fifth Sundays, donated chairs and hay bales are brought out, and services are held under the sky in the open-air cathedral. There was no outdoor Mass last spring, though, Chris said.  

“There was a forest fire up there,” he said, pointing to mountains in the West. “You just can’t do it with all the smoke.”

Chris and Lucilla Cisneros, married for 55 years, live just up the road from the San Isidro Catholic Church. In that time, the land has changed around them, marked by drought and fire. (Photo by Diana Cervantes for Source NM)

Lucilla Cisneros pulls tumbleweeds from the cage around the older graves in the churchyard. "We care for them as if they're our own." (Photo by Diana Cervantes for Source NM)

A carpet of grass fills the aisles of the church, open to the elements for nearly 50 years. (Photo by Diana Cervantes for Source NM)

Chris and Lucilla Cisneros pull away from the crumbling church and its cemetery after their work is done. The couple has been caring for these grounds for 35 years, but the work has grown harder as the land and climate shift. (Photo by Diana Cervantes for Source NM)