By Julia Michel
On a hill of dry ground, quietly keeping its secrets, stands a white, one-room church with a hand-painted sign in front: Howard’s First Church, 1889. Around the side of the building is a small patch of iris with one in bloom: a splash of lavender on a cold, windy, spring morning. (Iris seems to be that plant that all pioneer women must have kept – one that speaks of survival and the need for something beautiful, if only for a brief bloom of one day, maybe two.) Inside, the church is as simple and understated as the outside. No frills, not even pews, just a basic room with windows and a tall ceiling. A place with stories.