As I was cruising through rural Missouri, from Appleton City to Golden City, with Cooky's Cafe on my mind, I saw a building off the road and wanted a photo. I liked the way the shadows were hitting the porch and loved it's pristine condition.
I had to turn in "town" and go back to the park to ... uh ... park.
I grabbed a couple of cameras I was playing with, a Soviet era FED5 and an antique Kodak Brownie Bullet, and walked toward the house.
There was a lady across the street and up the way a bit eying me, so I thought I'd be polite and ask permission.
"Can I get a picture?" I shouted.
"What?" she replied cupping her ear.
"CAN I GET A PICTURE?" I yelled louder as she came closer.
"Why would you want to do that?" she asked.
"I drive around the country and take pictures with old cameras...for fun...it's my hobby," I tried to explain.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: She didn't have many teeth.
"I know the owners," she persisted.
"I'm not trying to cause problems, I just like the house and want to take a few shots of it," I continued.
"It's not a house, it's a church."
"I just like the church and want to take a few shots of it," I said, correcting my earlier statement.
"I don't care," she said as she walked off.
Thinking the interaction was over, I started shooting the place. I got a few with the FED5 and a few with the Brownie Bullet. Then I grabbed one of my Nikkormats and took a few. I have more than I need, no question.
As I was walking back to the truck she came across the street with pen and paper, wanting my name and number.
I pulled out my card and handed it to her. "If the police come asking about me, just give them this," I told her as loaded my cameras and headed out, looking forward to the piece of pie that was waiting for me at Cooky's.
I'm just a guy who finds the world an interesting place and likes to capture certain moments with a camera. They aren't for sale, or anything. I just like them. Well, usually. I've taken a lot of photos I don't like, as well.
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I stopped along the back roads I was taking home in a little ghost of a town named Prescott. I let Biggie stretch her legs while I had a cigar and enjoyed the quiet of the neglected baseball Diamond on the edge of town. As we sat there, I watched a young father giving his toddler a ride on his motorcycle. Around the block he went...then again....
I’ve had a wobble when I get over 65 since I started, but I’ve not really worried about it as I’m generally going slower than that on the back roads. Well it got worse coming out of Brownfield, TX, so decided to find a place.
I was up the block a ways when I saw her, singing an old country tune. I dropped a dollar in her basket and asked if I could take her picture.
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