God’s Name is Tim

It is Saturday in Deadwood and the operative word is rest.

We slept in a bit and purposely slowed the pace way down and Deadwood is just the place to do it. Absolutely perfect way to spend the day, all things considered.

Over the past 24 hours we have been processing our recent wild west experience and have been busy re-crafting our stay here in the Dakotas, canceling, changing and creating new reservations. It is good to be here amongst friends, old & new, who have been so supportive.

Earlier today, as Diane was in downtown Deadwood practicing her ninja like skills in the art of shop and release, I was tinkering on our starter challenged Healey. There were a few things that needed attention prior to the alleged Monday delivery of the replacement starter. It felt good to be out in the fresh air with busy hands.

As I was working, my friend and Healey mechanic Russ Thompson stopped by to see what I was up to. My suspicion is that Russ wanted to know what I was working on so later he would know exactly what he would need to fix. Trust but verify.

After Russ left and as I was finishing working on the car a couple from the Ohio Austin Healey Club walked up and asked if I needed any help getting the Healey off the trailer. I shared with them what was going on with the starter and the woman says to her husband, “John, didn’t Tim bring a starter with him?”

Let me pause here. At that moment I actually heard angels singing…..

……as it turns out it was just a couple of drunks coming out of the tavern across the street but that’s not the point.

The couple, John and Lauren Wallace, had given me hope that I may not have to wait until Monday to mend the car. If in fact Tim, whoever he is, does have a starter it would prove three things; 1) there is a God, and 2) he lives in Ohio, and 3) his name is Tim. Fingers crossed.

There is a deceased member of my family that has always provided us with gleaming example of what it is to be a man. Sandy Swanson was an outdoorsman. Half cowboy, half infielder, a hunter, a horseman and a doer of things. Kind to children and could MacGyver just about anything.

I tell you all of this so that you can appreciate a text I received from my brother Jim as I was just sitting down on the tail of my trailer pondering the hills around me.

Earlier in the day I had sent a number of dramatic pictures to Jim of the progression of the fire of what use to be our tow vehicle, the root cause of which was a collision with a deer. The grand finale of these images was a video I had taken of the firefighters arriving on the scene, a little more than an hour after the fire had started. Keep in mind they had to travel sixty plus miles to get there.

This is the text Jim sent me,

“Sandy Swanson would have had that buck field dressed and been serving grilled venison sausage by the time the fire crew arrived.”

I suppose I sent these images to my brother in hopes of soliciting some kind of sympathy. Instead, I got what I needed, a good laugh.

Thank you brother Jim.