OCTOBER 19, 2025 – (Cont.) I’m sure I could’ve coaxed some meaningful cash out of Timothy in exchange for what was a work of shop art. In the moment, however, I decided to let him have it, gratis. In the first place, no one in the family would ever use the bulky machine, and eventually, we’d need to deal with the enormous stash of “old stuff” that fills the cabin basement—not to mention the garage. That didn’t address, however, the separate matter of gaining recompense, a bonus, if you will, on top of the advantage of easy disposal of the table saw. But after considerable but unproductive efforts to sell the garden tractor, etc., Chuck had finally managed to find a taker—this man Timothy—for it all for $20. What could I expect from Timothy for the table saw? Forty bucks, tops, if I started at a hundred?
What convinced me to give it away was Timothy’s appreciation for what I could now see was an industrial quality table saw. I mean, here was a young ambitious guy from the reservation, where many young men struggle with addiction and a host of other potential-limiting circumstances, who showed motivation and a desire to put his skills to use. Why not extend a hand of encouragement? Why not reward his work ethic, his positive traits, and by all appearances, his genuine efforts to make something of life? I could see that the table saw was worth far more to him than its market value was to the family.
Another thought occurred to me. It was dumb at best and patronizing at worst, so I didn’t voice it out loud, but I thought about all the injustices that “my people” (Euro-Americans) had heaped on “his people” in the course of conquest. At the center of that injustice was the taking of land—in substance, outright theft. The “gift” to Timothy of Randy Rovelstad’s “gift” to Dad was a symbolic acknowledgment of historical wrongs.
I was then ready to tell Timothy my decision. “Timothy,” I said, “. . . by the way, do you go by ‘Timothy,’ ‘Tim’ or ‘Timmy’? When I called your number the first time, you answered as ‘Timothy,’ but the second time I phoned, your mom answered and identified herself as your mom, then called out for ‘Timmy.’ Which do you prefer?”
“Tim, Timmy, Timothy,” he said, “it doesn’t matter, as long as you don’t include an expletive. But I guess I like ‘Timothy,’ because it just sounds, well fuller, because after all, it is my full name.”
“Good. Then I’ll stick with that. So, anyway, Timothy, I’d like to give the table saw to you—just let you have it—for two reasons. First, you have a genuine appreciation for it, and second, I have the feeling that you’ll put it to really good use.”
“Thanks. I mean, that’s really nice of you,” he said, “and you’re right. I’ll be putting this to very good use.”
With the garden tractor and accessories loaded up, Timothy said he’d take them home, then return to get the bigger trailer and the table saw. “I’m only 15 minutes away,” he said. I’ll call you when I’m heading back out so you can meet me back here.”
“Fine,” I said. I didn’t tell him that it wasn’t necessary for me to be on hand for his pick-up of the saw, but I appreciated the fact that he didn’t assume that that was the case.
Just as he’d represented, 15 minutes later he called. “We’ve just unloaded the tractor and the other stuff,” he said. “We’re now heading back.”
And 15 minutes later the burgundy pick-up reappeared. I was duly impressed by Timothy’s punctuality—a rarity in reservation life, as I’ve learned from experience. He told me that he’d cleared out a corner of his garage where the saw could go, next to his lumber supply.
I took several more photos of the table saw as Timothy and Steve deliberated about how best to load it into the trailer, which was now hitched to the pick-up. As they discussed their options, I kidded them by saying, “You’d better load that up before I change my mind! Out here in the broad daylight, it’s a magnificent piece of equipment.”
They laughed. “Sure is,” said Steve, as Timothy checked the wingnuts to ensure that the tabletop was secure. Soon the saw was onboard, whereupon Timothy thanked me and added that if I ever had any work I wanted done—yard work, tree-felling, engine repair—to give him a call. I said I definitely would, now that I had his number.
As he opened the door to his truck, I told him how glad I was that the tractor, trailer and now the table saw were in the hands of someone who really appreciated them and would put them to good use. He reciprocated with affirmation. Just before he stepped into his truck, I said, “You’re a good man, Timothy. I’m glad we met.”
“So am I,” he said. “And thanks.”
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© 2025 by Eric Nilsson
