By Teresa Avila
Nancy Peters showed up in a teal pickup truck with a load of meat she wanted to get in the fridge.
We’d been snooping around the church for a few minutes (the county sheriff, Dennis Martin, accompanying us, so we were within the law). He had been talking to Anna Boiko-Weyrauch and cut off suddenly when he saw Peters pull up.
After some explanation and introduction, trip leader Bill Allen asked Peters whether we might be allowed into the locked church.
She was hesitant. She had that meat she wanted to get in a fridge, but in the end she agreed to let us in.
As we wandered around the church, Peters explained that she’s part of the St. John’s Lutheran Church women’s group. She shared the story of the flood and her congregation in a tone that I found firm but tired. I can’t make any claim whether she felt this way; it’s only my impression.
Still, I felt like the question “what happens to the church now?” was an overwrought one for her.
Peters was extremely generous to give her time to us, a random group of out-of-towners poking around her church. I hope her meat got to its destination in time.
And in case it didn’t, she has Allen’s business card.
— Edited by Darren Orf