I Know That My Suburban Lives

 Apologies to anyone familiar with the great hymn I Know That My Redeemer Lives who might see me as being flippant and irreverent.  That is not at all my intent here.  I love that hymn, which is why the title above, in my head, becomes a song sung to that tune.

I know that my Suburban lives!

What comfort this sweet sentence gives.

She lives, who once was given up for dead;

she lives and I'll drive her instead!

Allow me an explanation.  This is our 2005 Suburban that was my vehicle for nearly 20 years.  She's rusty.  She's got over 302,000 miles on her (original!!) engine and transmission.  

When we ordered Sweet Madame Blue in 2023, the Suburban went from my daily driver to my winter beater.  And then, in May 2025, her brakes started grinding, and DH didn't have time to replace them.  So she sat for a few months.  Then he decided that maybe he'd take her to the local auto repair shop and have them replace the brakes instead of doing it himself.  But it wasn't a priority, so she sat for another few months.  Then it was time for Sweet Madame Blue to go into hibernation in the garage for the winter, and, rather than do anything about getting those brakes fixed so I could drive the Suburban all winter, he decided it was just easier if I used the blue truck as my winter ride.

At one point, January, I think, he decided that rather than fix those brakes on the Suburban, he would just put her up for sale, as is.  We'd gotten a good twenty years out of her.  She's been from one coast to the other with us: Michigan to Florida, Michigan to South Carolina (multiple times), Michigan to Oregon. Multiple other states, even a few locations in Canada. She'd been through four teenage drivers and a (male) driver (and his buddies) who didn't always make the best decisions, and she had all the dents to show for it.  But yet, every time I (or anyone else) turned the key, she fired right up.  She wasn't ready for the scrap yard yet.  She just needed someone willing to replace the little things as they continued to get worn out over the miles and years. (Which, given recent history, was no longer DH.)

So, she sat at the end of our driveway, a for sale sign in her window, all winter and most of the spring.  Finding out that Craigslist now charges for automobile for sale ads, DH declined to list her online with them.  And, since he doesn't do Facebook, he declined to list her there either.  We're out in the country on a side road; we don't get much traffic other than tractors and our other rural neighbors (who mostly all have four-wheel drive vehicles of their own already).  Which means there wasn't much awareness of or inquiries into our Suburban.  One guy (a rural neighbor) wanted to know if we'd trade her for a dump truck load of gravel (uh, no.  Not unless that guy wanted to also give us some cash with that gravel, which he didn't).  But other than that, no interest at all.  So DH finally brought her back up to the house and parked her in our parking area.

And then, in June, he and the blue truck had an intimate encounter with a deer.  If you've been reading my blog this summer, you know how that turned out.  So, once we'd made our final decision on what to do with the totaled blue truck (you can read that here), I looked at DH and said:

"Why don't we take the Suburban in to get her brakes fixed, and she can be my winter beater again this year and I can also use her this summer and fall for hauling things like bags of grain that I used to get in the blue truck?  That way I don't have to arrange for you to go after work (and before the feed store closes) to get that sort of stuff  with me with your company truck."

Wonder of wonders, he agreed with me.  Probably because for over a month he'd found it rather inconvenient to haul farm related things for me.  A week later (because, if you know my DH, he only moves quickly on his own whims), we dropped her off at the local auto repair shop that we've used for more than a decade for things DH doesn't have the time (or tools in some cases) to fix himself.

And now, she's back on the road again!  I don't feel quite so helpless in terms of hauling things, I don't have to make arrangements with DH to go with me buy 50 pound bags of animal feed.  Because, honestly, that was really cramping my style, not to mention fuc messing up my horse training/barn work schedule.

I know that my Suburban lives! 

What comfort this sweet sentence gives.

She lives, who once was given up for dead;

she lives and I'll drive her instead!