Sister Rebecca Leis pours low-gluten alter bread batter into a machine that bakes the thin bread at the Benedictine Sisters of Perpetual Adoration monastery in Clyde, Missouri, December 18, 2014. The Sisters have made communion wafers since 1910 and began making a low-gluten version in 2003 and have gone from 143 customers in 2004 to more than 11,000 customers from around the world. (Photo by Dave Kaup/Reuters)

An Egyptian Coptic Christian women holds onto a pew during the celebration of Christmas Nativity Liturgy, the start of Christmas, at the Coptic Orthodox Church of St. George on January 6, 2012 in the Brooklyn borough of New York City. (Photo by Spencer Platt/Getty Images)

Lamas dance during the “Tiaoqian” praying ceremony at the Youning Temple on February 8, 2009 in Huzhu County of Qinghai Province, China. (Photo by China Photos/Getty Images)

A statue by Italian artist Maurizio Cattelan of Adolf Hitler praying on his knees in Warsaw, Poland, on Friday Dec. 28, 2012. The work, «HIM» has been drawing visitors since it was installed last month and even some anger. One Jewish group, the Simon Wiesenthal Center, this week condemned the work's placement in the former ghetto as “a senseless provocation which insults the memory of the Nazis' Jewish victims”. (Photo by Czarek Sokolowski/AP via La Presse)

While communism, collectivism, worms, dry rot and casual looting failed to destroy the majestic wooden churches of Russia, it may be ordinary neglect that finally does them in. Dwindled now to several hundred remaining examples, these glories of vernacular architecture lie scattered amid the vastness of the world’s largest country. Just over a decade ago, Richard Davies, a British architectural photographer, struck out on a mission to record the fragile and poetic structures. Austerely beautiful and haunting, “Wooden Churches: Traveling in the Russian North” (White Sea Publishing; $132) is the result. Covering thousands of miles, Mr. Davies described how he and the writer Matilda Moreton tracked down the survivors from among the thousands of onion-domed structures built after Prince Vladimir converted to Christianity in 988.

The Glastonbury Grace Cup, a rare carved oak tankard is and an 18th century replica in silver gilt (L), is held at Glastonbury Abbey for the first time in 125 years on December 12, 2011 in Glastonbury, England. (Photo by Matt Cardy/Getty Images)

While communism, collectivism, worms, dry rot and casual looting failed to destroy the majestic wooden churches of Russia, it may be ordinary neglect that finally does them in. Dwindled now to several hundred remaining examples, these glories of vernacular architecture lie scattered amid the vastness of the world’s largest country. Just over a decade ago, Richard Davies, a British architectural photographer, struck out on a mission to record the fragile and poetic structures. Austerely beautiful and haunting, “Wooden Churches: Traveling in the Russian North” (White Sea Publishing; $132) is the result. Covering thousands of miles, Mr. Davies described how he and the writer Matilda Moreton tracked down the survivors from among the thousands of onion-domed structures built after Prince Vladimir converted to Christianity in 988.

A woman holds her dog as it is blessed by a priest in Benalmadena, near Malaga, Spain, January 17, 2016. Hundreds of pet owners bring their animals to be blessed every year on the day of San Anton, Spain's patron saint of animals. (Photo by Jon Nazca/Reuters)