He built half of the house he lives in with his own hands.  At 95, a World War II vet of the Army Corps of Engineers, he still drives and puffs the occasional cigarette.  He grows his own tomatoes and walks where his wheels won’t take him.   It’s the 21st century and he still burns his trash.  I remember when the white hairs on his head was a dark red and when he wore a Kangols instead of ball caps.  But more than anything I’m happy that he’s still here, that he kept the words I wrote for a birthday in a frame, and that he can still laugh at himself.  I’m glad that I took these shots and recorded some of his stories for the lens and mic.   He’s gone from farm boy to living history, and I hope to document as much of the road he’s traveled as I can.