During a 2015 visit to Goldfield Ghost Town in Apache Junction, I photographed The Church on the Mount, a small desert chapel perched against the backdrop of the Superstition Mountains. It’s one of those places where the Old West feels close enough to touch—sun‑bleached wood, quiet air, and a sense of history that settles in around you.
Goldfield built this church with authentic period details, giving it the charm of a true 1800s frontier chapel. It’s a simple structure, but that simplicity is exactly what makes it so striking in the Arizona light. The moment I captured it, the whole scene felt timeless.
The church features:
An organ from the 1880s
A pulpit repurposed from a Hammond Theatre pipe organ
1931 pews built in late‑1800s style
Wagon‑wheel chandeliers
A rough‑hewn wooden cross
Goldfield jokingly calls it a great place to “get hitched or ditched”
You can find this image in my Picfair Store — The Church on the Mount. It’s a little slice of Arizona history framed in warm desert tones.
Skeletal Rider: A Galveston Snapshot with Grit and Grin
Today’s spotlight focuses on an existing image to my Picfair Store: Skeletal Rider — a stylized tribute to Galveston’s outlaw charm and the playful spirit of the Gulf Coast.
This photo captures the iconic Skeleton Bike from Doc Holliday’s Roadhouse a Galveston bar known for its quirky, Americana-meets-pirate, vibe. The skeleton rider is part of the bar’s themed decor, a nod to Doc Holliday’s Wild West legacy, and the island’s rough-and-tumble mystique.
Here’s the scoop on the Skeleton Bike:
It’s Decor: A signature piece of the bar’s outlaw/pirate aesthetic, often featuring a skeleton rider.
Galveston Vibe: Embodies the island’s adventurous spirit, pirate lore, and outlaw history.
Photo Op: Designed to spark imagination and storytelling — more atmosphere than solemn monument.
Check it out on my Picfair Store and license it for your own storytelling or design projects.
Golden Light and Blue Skies: Arizona’s Winter Magic
Late December in the Sonoran Desert… where the sun still blazes, the skies stay impossibly blue, and the mighty saguaro stands tall like a sentinel of the Southwest. There’s something timeless and majestic about this landscape — rugged mountains, golden light, and cacti that seem to reach for the heavens. Arizona knows how to do winter with style.
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There’s just something about vintage Christmas photos that takes a hold of my heart and won’t let go. Maybe it’s the soft glow, the worn edges, or the way the light feels warmer than it ought to be. Or maybe it’s because they remind me of a slower, steadier time—one where Christmas didn’t rush past you like a pickup flying down the highway, but instead pulled up a chair, poured some coffee, and stayed awhile.
I recall while growing up that Christmas has always been about more than decorations or presents. It’s about place. It’s about memory. And, for me, vintage Christmas imagery captures that feeling better than anything else I know.
Take a towering Christmas tree glowing against a deep evening sky. The lights don’t sparkle sharply—they shimmer softly, like they’ve been shining faithfully for decades. That kind of tree doesn’t just light up a town square; it gathers folks together. You can almost hear boots on pavement, quiet laughter, and the hum of conversation as neighbors pause to take it all in. In Texas, trees like that aren’t just decorations—they’re landmarks of togetherness.
I’m especially drawn to images of parks and public spaces dressed up in soft golden light. Trees wrapped gently in strands of bulbs, glowing like fireflies caught in the branches. The people are often just shadows or impressions, but that’s part of the magic. Those photos don’t tell you exactly who was there—they invite you to imagine yourself in the scene. That’s the kind of Christmas memory that lasts.
One of my favorite things about vintage Christmas photos is how they handle light. It’s never harsh. Candle flames flicker instead of glare. In one scene, a small cardinal sits near glowing candles, quiet and watchful. That image feels like Christmas distilled down to its simplest form: warmth, stillness, and life holding steady in the cold. Cardinals have always felt special to me, and seeing one paired with candlelight feels like a gentle reminder to slow down and be present.
Even the colors in these photos feel like home. Warm golds, deep greens, soft reds—nothing overly bright, nothing shouting for attention. They’re the colors of old ornaments, well-loved decorations, and stories passed down year after year. They feel like Christmas mornings that start early and stretch long, where nobody’s in a hurry and the coffee pot stays on.
What I love most, though, is how these vintage images carry emotion without trying too hard. They don’t rely on perfection. They embrace texture, grain, and imperfection—just like real memories do. Around here, we know that the best moments usually aren’t polished. They’re honest. They’re shared. And they stick with you.
That’s why vintage Christmas photos mean so much to me. They remind me of Texas winters that may not bring snow, but bring plenty of warmth. They remind me that Christmas isn’t about keeping up—it’s about holding on. Holding on to traditions, places, and the quiet moments that shape who we are.
So when I look at these images, I’m not just seeing decorations or scenes from the past. I’m seeing family, community, and a Christmas spirit that feels as wide and steady as the Texas sky. And that’s a feeling worth cherishing, year after year.
Merry Christmas and Season’s Greetings from our family to yours!
realgilmorris 