I love my Rav 4 very much; it’s the best car I’ve ever owned and the most comfortable.

Taking good care of it is a big deal for me; if possible, I want it to last as long as I live. I have a good shot at it. Clint is a mechanic and is one of the nicest and hardest-working people I’ve ever met.

I put him in the category of the big and skilled men who make it possible for city people like me to live here and be safe and comfortable.

I can’t count the number of times I’ve called Clint (or Maria has) when we were in car trouble, and he has always gotten us out of it, even if it meant coming up our driveway and fixing the car in our yard.

Clint may be the hardest-working person I know; his garage is a couple of miles down the road, and today, I counted nearly 60 cars in front awaiting care.

He has a stellar reputation, and I have gotten to know a side of him he never talks about or makes a fuss over. I have a good friend who is an immigrant to the United States and has very little money, and Clint has been generous and responsive to the nightmare of a car she drives around in.

Without the car, life up here would be almost impossible for her. He always takes the car in, fixes it quickly and without complaint, and trusts her to pay him when she can.

Today, I left my car at his garage early in the morning, and he called me at 4:30 to explain to me in mechanic gibberish what he had done and what he had to fix, including a leak in a rear tire and he went into the garage and back with something he called a tire sensor.

I didn’t understand a word of it; he doesn’t really care. Clint is a quiet man, he stays focused on his work.

He replaced my brakes today and ran up a high but honest bill for me. I asked him how much, and he said it was too late to make up a bill today. “Just stop by when you’re driving by,” he said, “and settle up when you can.”

I’ll stop by Monday morning. Clint is going into to my Portrait Hall Of Good People. works from dawn to dusk and has become so popular that it takes weeks to repair a car. In an emergency, he always seems to find the type, and he never makes me feel annoyed or stupid, even though I never know what he is talking about.

He is very serious about his work, but I sometimes get him to laugh. Then, he walks away and gets back to work. He doesn’t have a lot of time for messing around. He takes his work very seriously.

Clint insists on explaining every twist and turn of the car and its necessary repairs. I have never understood what he is saying, but he is undaunted by my eye-rolling; everyone gets a detailed explanation, like it or not. He is as honest as he is hard working.

He grew a big beard lately, and I’m having fun torturing him about it. “Are you going, Amish?” I asked. He always smiles when I kid him about his beard or technical explanations and says nothing. He’s not a kidder.

Dealing with a mechanic like Clint is very different from dealing with the mechanics I knew in the cities I lived in. I never really got to know any of them, and I’m not sure I ever got one of them to smile or to come and help me off hours when I was in trouble.

I’m proud to take his photo. People like him put portraits to good use.

Clint is a good man, a hard working man, a knowledgeable man, and a conscientious man must respected.

I’m happy to take his picture and add him to my growing collection of people I love, respect, or like.