Outside of Wilmington, on the way to Sabina, I stopped to visit a small family cemetery where I had stopped when I walked thru in 2007. One old headstone from 1815 was for a man aged "about 65 years". I cleared the grass from a stone of a child aged forty five days. Times back then must have been both good and hard.
As I was about to leave, a grandmother and her granddaughter stopped to take a picture. The young girl had just started at her school newspaper and wanted to interview me. I was her first story, her first "bone".
With our help she got her story. She was a little nervous and shy. Grandmother and I helped with the little things. Most important to her was the name of the dog.
She was not the only reporter to have me as their first story, but she was defiantly the sweetest and cutest.