A few years ago, my family was coming back home on a blistering hot 4th of July on a desolate stretch of ND road. We stopped to help a Native girl who had a flat tire, with a baby in the backseat. Try as I might, I couldn’t get the car jacked because she parked so unevenly on the soft shoulder. Wife asks, “What are we gonna do?” I tell her, “We’re waiting for a Southerner to drive by. They’ll figure it out” (the ND oilfield is full of Southerners). Sure enough, about 20 minutes of folks driving by later, up pulls a lifted King Ranch pickup with Texas plates and FIVE barely-adult white boys climb out, and *without talking to us* proceeded to figure out the problem and changed the tire. LIKE WE WEREN’T THERE. They nodded, but continued their conversation about “jug fishing.” Five minutes later, they were gone. My roughly 10 year-old asks, “Mom, were they angels?” Mandy says, “Even better. Rednecks.” These are the finest people on God’s green Earth, and are a national treasurer.