For years, it was always the same. Around 8:45 in the morning, we’d pile in the station wagon and head over to church, greeted there by a couple high school students dressed as pilgrims and playing snare drums. Inside, our Congregationalist Meetinghouse was attended to by more pilgrims and a cadre of severe looking clergy in stark, black gowns. That over with, we’d be on the road again by 10:15, driving west southwest from the Cities. Within fifteen minutes the... Read more





