Judge Anna von Reitz
When I was a little girl I lived on an old homestead farm that was bisected pretty much down the middle by US Highway 12. Back in the days before the Interstate Highway System old US Highway 12 was a very busy road, with semi-trucks and trailers and big oil tankers and military convoys running day and night.
Along with all this traffic came troupes of ragged men, “hobos” my Father called them, and he watched them with sad and wary eyes, at once sympathetic and on guard because they were all unknown quantities as they wandered down our long driveway to the farmhouse door—-looking for food and sometimes for warmth.
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