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.