Stony Hill

Any middle-aged man fighting back the test of time with a healthy respect for the past will have one of two reactions when they travel past this place whilst heading north on U.S. Highway 169. One reaction entails serious whiplash as their head tries to offset the motion of a car travelling at 70 mph, at least enough for the eyes to soak it all in. The other reaction is moderate to strong chest pressure. Not the cardiac kind, at least not for me today. Rather, the pressure from one’s seat belt as their brakes are dramatically applied and a spontaneous U-Turn is commenced.

Stony Hill Auto
Antique, Old Cars and Parts
Home of the Big Boy’s Toys
Milaca, Minnesota

So his business card says.
It does not lie.

As I turned off of the highway, declined through a small ravine, and prepared to proceed through the boulder lined path to the property, I quickly gained the knowledge that this place is not an ordinary place, let alone an ordinary old car place. It is a labor of love, artfully applied.

In the center of the majestic lot, a workshop of pure authenticity prevails. And displayed before the shop, autos of various ages and stages of restoration, not in a line, but composed like dancers fanning out on a stage in a fine auditorium to take a bow after a brilliant performance. If that was not enough to make a lasting impression, tucked behind the shop and slightly to the left, surrounded by storied oak trees, is a perfectly manicured rambler. One that I would proudly call home

It was indisputable. This place is the result of passion and talent and artful eyes.

I dwelled, admiring the heavy metal that mostly was born before me. My father came to mind but the corner of my eye stayed on the proprietor. I knew it would not be long until I attracted his attention. He approached me with a smile that would bring lasting peace to the Middle East. His clear voice and firm handshake quickly made me feel like we were dear and long-lived friends.

So, the dialogue began, as did my longing and pleas for the right to capture his image next to one of his projects. I sold as hard as I could, as hard as a salesman selling ice in Alaska in December. Finally, Butch reluctantly agreed…to just one image. But nearly a dozen clicks after, each one accompanied by my heart felt and well intended proclamation…. “I promise, just one more”, I realized that he fully understood my affliction and indulged me in my game.

And after the photos, the conversation carried on. Stories of cars we have owned followed by our banter about cars that defined our fathers and our friends. I did not want the conversation to end but it was time to head further north towards my family. So I headed towards my car.


But my experience was not yet over and if my time well spent with Butch was not enough to imprint my heart, his wife Eileen came over to say hello as I climbed into my car.

The circle of knowledge was complete. This unique place did not result from the effort of just one, but the passionate and unified result of an amazing team.

As I drove away, it dawned on me that cars like those at Stony Hill Auto may never be made with such quality again. Nor may individuals like Butch and Eileen.

It was a special trip north today, made all the more meaningful when I arrived several hours later to the loving arms of my girls.

Grateful I am tonight.

If you have time, please see Butch in large. A most special man.