I’ve got a friend who has a lot of stuff. Before you tell me that you’ve got a lot of stuff, I should take a moment to describe the type of stuff I’m talking about: Surplus metal crates full of air tools. Ammunition in quantities I’ve not seen outside of a gun store. Welding generators. A fully refurbished, counterbalanced mount for a 50 caliber machine gun. 22″ CRT color monitors. Two Unimogs. Three years ago, he moved to the west coast, and last summer I helped him empty a warehouse and load a 20 foot box trailer. We needed an industrial forklift and several pallet jacks to move everything. He trailered the Unimogs separately and had them stored with the rest of his gear, somewhere in the wilds of Oregon.

Talking with him a few months ago, he casually mentioned that he’d sold the Unimogs on a whim—the right offer came along out of the blue, and he took it. Shocked, I asked him why he’d done it; after all, he had plenty of space to store them, he’d been talking about restoring them for years, and he’d already told me about his plans for them when he was done. “Made a snap decision the other week when someone showed an interest. Took too long to drive out to where they were; I wasn’t spending enough time enjoying them.”

This is also the guy who once told me, laughing, “Never get attached to any of your stuff. It’s just stuff.”

As he’s someone I respect and admire, I’ve tried to follow his example as much as I can in the last couple of years. I tend to hold on to things way too long, and I develop ridiculous ‘relationships’ with my stuff—as faithful readers of this here website know already. I’ve actually been pretty good about jettisoning some of my crap this year, inspired by his example and that of my wife, who is ruthless in culling the debris from her life.

With all that in mind, I made the decision a month ago to finally list the Scout on a few bulletin boards in an effort to sell it. The first few bites weren’t promising— a few online tire-kickers who didn’t read the parts that clearly stated “Does not run” and “Will need a new tub”. I had one acquaintance stop out to look at her, and he offered some money up as a parts truck. I was beginning to get discouraged, and started looking around for junk haulers in the local papers.

However, something odd just happened that reaffirmed my faith in serendipity. For reasons I can’t get into here right now (good ones, to be sure), the Scout will be going to a good home where it won’t get cut up for parts and left in a field.