Opening Up Space
With public spaces disappearing, working people hungry for community are building their own.
“He said ‘just don’t touch my workshop,’” says Sheurle Klingsmith, smiling at her husband, Kirk. “But then one day, he moved his tools out so we could go ahead.”
“That’s not exactly how I remember it,” Kirk laughs good-naturedly.
Today, Kirk’s tools are pushed back against the wall, and the rest of the space is filled with tables and chairs, art and art supplies. Paintings hang on every wall, and illustrations, beadwork, fabric art, and even chainsaw art are displayed throughout the room. Gesturing to a black bear carved out of a log done by DC Carvings, Sheurle says: “This gentleman was selling his work on the side of the road, so of course I circled back and asked him if he wanted to display some pieces here.”
Her eyes scan the room: “There’s a mountain of creativity and talent in this town, but no place to show it.”
The Klingsmiths are trying to change that. They’ve created a community art gallery and creative space where residents of Chaves County, New Mexico, can gather. They not only take in local artists' work on commission, but they also offer craft classes and workshops. However, what is most interesting about their project is that this isn’t just Kirk’s old workshop, but it’s on the property on which they live. Their adobe brick home, built by Kirk, sits only yards away, and their 400-tree pistachio farm grows across the dusty driveway. The couple is on a mission to open up their “little piece of ground” into a public gathering space—something that this desert town lacks.
Third places—places that are not our private homes and are not our workplaces—are disappearing across the United States. Some of this is due to rising costs (it's expensive to rent a storefront, let alone run an independent cafe); some is due to local governments moving resources away from libraries, parks, and community centers that once were integral to community life. Third places encourage social interaction and cohesion, and their disappearance is pushing people towards more structured and individualistic lifestyles.
“It’s like dreams have crashed,” says Kirk, about the impact of this isolation in his hometown. He sees its impact everywhere: loneliness, substance use, a lack of civic engagement.
But in small towns everywhere, people like the Klingsmiths are bringing back third places. ACROSS Alabama has recently purchased five acres outside Camp Hill, a small, rural part of the state. “We are creating our own thing here,” says Warren Tidwell. “This is a community that has nothing going on—so we are going to make it go on.” He tells me that people in Camp Hill want more opportunities for their families. “There’s a two-car garage on the property that we outfitted as a training spot for formerly incarcerated folks and youth. We will also have a welding shop, a blacksmith shop, and a woodworking shop.”
But for Warren, the property’s purpose isn’t just to offer job training and practical resources; it’s to “create a space where people can collide.” He imagines a space where families can enjoy picnics and outdoor movies, where people can swap stories and catch up with each other. “This is a poor community, and the wealthier towns around us forget about us. By doing this, we are staking our territory.”
Caroline Stephenson agrees. When I visited Cultivator Bookstore in the small town of Murfreesboro, North Carolina, Caroline told me that the property the bookstore sits on is an old grist mill and mill pond where she and her dad used to fish. Today, Caroline has turned an old house on the property into a non-profit bookstore and gathering space. “We opened it as a bookstore because there is no place to buy books in this county. You have to drive up to Virginia or go an hour to Roanoke Rapids just to get books here,” she explains.
Quickly, however, the Cultivator became about more than just books. Caroline found that once she created the space, she was able to learn more about the needs of her community. Soon, Cultivator volunteers started a food distribution program and, later, a youth theater program. “We are letting our neighbors tell us what the town needs,” she says. “But we had to create a space first to start the conversation.”
The third spaces Sheurle, Kirk, Warren, and Caroline are creating in their hometowns are places of belonging where people don’t necessarily have to be a worker or a consumer to be there. They are public leisure spaces where everyone is welcome. While their pretense may be on art or job training, or books, they thrive by not being strict about their purpose. Instead, participants help shape the space as it grows. In this way, I’m reminded that third spaces are just good for public leisure, but they are also great equalizers—places where people with different perspectives and ideas can mingle and overlap.
Back in Chaves County, I am walking with the Klingsmiths down their long, dusty driveway. Their dogs run ahead of us, tongues hanging out in the heat. They show me their adobe pit; rows of recently made bricks lay baking in the hot New Mexico sun. The couple built their own home out of this earth, but now are teaching others how to do this work through workshops they host on their property. Kirk’s goal is to build a small neighborhood of tiny houses right next to his own—an ultimate transformation of private space into public space. The vision isn’t just about the structures but about the process. As he describes it, the adobe pit is a third place: “Magic happens when you have people out here digging and molding bricks. They talk, they tell stories, they laugh, they give each other life advice.”
“You never know where you are going to find that kind of connection,” he says. “You just have to open up space for it.”
Adobe pit, art space, bookstore, or mechanic shop; it’s a community loss not to invest in third places.
***This story was written by me (Gwen!) and originally published and distributed by Courier News in June of 2025.***
I love this! Makes me think about the third places I'm discovering where I live in Selma NC.