For those of you that don’t know, I grew up in an embarrassingly small town called Hartland, Michigan. Being a young kid there was great. We played Rambo and rode our BMX bikes all over town, made jumps and a million forts and treehouses all over Parshallville (the even smaller village where my parents house was located). One of the “highlights” every year in Hartland was, and still is, the Memorial Day parade where all the “country folk” (not the term I use, but probably less offensive) come out to show their patriotic pride; something small town America has never had a shortage of. Something else they never seem to have a shortage of, apparently, is huge tires, gasoline, and over abundant arrogance. Still this past Memorial Day, I revisited this place and parade after years of being away and saw it somewhat differently through the lens of my camera and the eyes of my foreign born partner. It was both sad and triumphant at the same time. The eternally proud spirit of mankind shining on, no matter how dismal and ineffective it’s community might be in the broad scope of the world, is still something to celebrate. That, and making a monster truck out of a Rolls Royce is a noble effort no matter how many people are starving or dying somewhere else in the world.