Hartland, VT

I was a little concerned that my travel schedule was placing me in Hartland, VT around 6PM on a Friday afternoon, which would provide me with quite a challenge to find someone to interview on such short notice and on a day when the last thing on someone's mind is to be bombarded with questions by a total stranger on a motorcycle.

What the heck? I was there and the town still exists, so I decided to make the best of this situation.

I parked across from the town hall and proceeded to snap away from the camera to catch the building from different angles than what I had seen online.

I was setting up to photograph the military memorial, when a man stopped his car and asked me what I was doing.

I explained to him my mission of asking questions in his fair hamlet and the fact that I may have picked a bad time to visit. He suggested I go to the VFW, which is located behind Mike's Mobil Station, south of us on US Route #5. I thanked him and headed Mozi in that direction. Before I reached Mike's Mobil, I saw a group of tents out of the corner of my right eye

 and also saw the sign which would lead me to the Hartland Farmer's Market.

I spent a few minutes eating great local foods and talking with several people about the weekly market's success while Carlos played his guitar and sang for us.

Now, I know what I am there for. Nobody else does. Is this a crazy game? Are there parting gifts for the first runner up? Seriously, I want a prize for spotting a man wearing a tee shirt with the USA outlined with Stars and Stripes. I remember walking up to him and waiting very patiently until he was finished talking to another man who had recently asked a few friends to help him raise a barn, only to have no less than 65 people show up for the community event!

I spoke to the patriotic one. "So, you're the guy?"

He looked somewhat puzzled and looked down at his dog.

I began to explain to him why I was there and my need to interview one special person about Freedom and since he was wearing our symbol of Freedom over his heart, I felt he was the chosen one in Vermont. He asked if his dog could come along. "Of course. What is his name?"

He answered, "She is Liberty, but everyone calls her Libby."

My response? "Shut up!" Are you serious?

Folks, he showed me the dog tag:

I could not make this up if I tried...