I had hit a roadblock. I had an interview I was really excited about that just kept falling through. Frustrated, I told Otto that we should go on a brief hike so I could clear my mind and maybe decide how to not waste the day. I don’t get to travel to Appalachia as much as I want to, and rotting around in the hotel was driving me crazy.

This hike wound up being one of the best decisions I would make on this trip. Upon reaching the top, we got this view:

While sitting in the lookout, I decided to Google something I had never actually thought to Google before: “snake handling churches near me.” It was mostly a joke. I certainly didn’t expect anything to come up. But something did. At the bottom of the search results was a blog post from a man named David Thrower, titled “Little Churches.” The post was, for the most part, exactly what the title promised: photographs and stories of small churches and chapels scattered throughout Appalachia and the South. Thrower writes affectionately about these places, particularly the way small buildings can become tied to memory, place, and religious life.

And then, near the very bottom, I found something different. A few photographs of a tiny building in rural Virginia: the Poor Valley Pentecostal Holiness Church. The building was barely recognizable as a church. It was little more than a rough wooden structure, complete with its own outhouse. Inside was an altar. There was even a doll dressed in Holiness clothing who, according to Thrower, served as one of its parishioners. What made it stranger was who was supposedly running the place.

A group of teenagers.

Thrower had found the church in 2014, but even he wasn’t quite sure what he had found. He wondered aloud whether these were young people who genuinely believed they had established a church, or simply “country pre-teens playing church.” He left the question unresolved, although he was clearly fascinated enough to want to meet them himself. Over ten years later, I would encounter these same photographs while searching for traces of serpent-handling communities online. Another researcher had stumbled across Poor Valley and preserved what remained of it. Their description was even more archaeological: a “primitive church building” operated by teenagers, with almost no information left online beyond Thrower’s blog post, an abandoned YouTube channel, and an archived website.

There was, however, one thing neither account had, and that was the story of the people who built it.

So I started looking for them. Eventually, I found Brandon Campbell. That day, I got in contact with him. The next day, I drove out to meet him.

We talked for hours, and he was kind enough to let me record it.

This is an excerpt from that interview, with Brandon providing a little bit of backstory into the purpose of that church:

We also made a trip out to that little church. Brandon had made some changes to it over the years from when Thrower had documented it.

You can see the full collection of photographs I took in the “Poor Valley Pentecostal Holiness Church Collection” on my Photographs page in the archive.

Additionally, you can check out the Website and YouTube video Brandon made to see other pictures from over 13 years ago:

Finally—and I am immensely grateful to Brandon for this—check out the physical materials from the church he was willing to give to me. The goal has always been to let members speak for themselves, let items and actions be contextualized, and to make it publicly accessible for anyone who is curious. You can find these items HERE.

Thank you Brandon, for answering my Facebook message, and for all you continue to do. For those curious, go check out his book—and keep an eye out for his full interview. It is remarkable.