The Ford that liked Eggs

Do you remember your first car? Do you remember your parents first car?

It’s hard today to imagine cars where style and comfort were not even considered. Mother remembered her family’s first car– a 1926 T. Model Ford. It was jet black and smelt of gasoline and new leather.

Her family was very excited. Her Mother rejoiced, “How wonderful. She can’t shed horse hairs.”

Her brother exulted over the horse power instead of the horse hairs. He itched to see how fast it could go.

But her father was glum. He had paid $600 for this bloodless machine and that was sweat money earned by hog and hominy farming. He had no desire to drive this contraption, although he was a skillful driver of six mules hitched to a wagon and guided by one line.

In the early 1900s tires were made of hard, solid rubber that sent a bone-jarring jolt to passengers every time they hit a bump. Engines were loud, car-shaking affairs that discharged noxious fumes and frightened horses or, as some believed, caused cows to stop giving milk. To many people the automobile was an undesirable intruder with its loud chugging and frequent explosive backfire

From the first our Ford and my brother seemed in rapport. He was fifteen years old; maybe that is why he understood the Ford’s mulish moods. She had a self-starter, but had to be cranked most of the time. He cranked her with care lest the handles kick back and break his arm. When the motor caught he raced back to the steering wheel to jerk the gas lever before the engine stalled.

Just to drive our Ford was a challenge to one’s ingenuity and imagination. We rode with the hood up most of the time to keep the engine from overheating. A sudden downpour always found us drenched before we could get the side curtains snapped in the right place. My brother learned to use the reverse pedal as a drag to prevent the brakes from burning out: to determine the gasoline, we had to take off the front seat, unscrew the cap of the fuel tank, and thrust in a stick.

It was a rare trip without a puncture or blowout and several times we had to ride in on the rim. She developed a chronic leak in her radiator. It was to meet this emergency that we made our amazing discovery. My brother discovered that our Ford liked eggs. One morning when she was all steamed up and leaking, he dropped two raw eggs down her radiator. Presto! The eggs cooked and sealed the leak, and then she could hold water. This became her daily diet. Some mornings we had to wait until the hens laid before we could drive her to school.

Our Ford forded the swift waters of Duck River, climbed perpendicular hills, rattled over rocky terrain and was often stuck in axle-deep mud holes and scraped on blackjack stumps.

Later, when we moved to the city she was hit by a street car. She emerged a battle scarred veteran with balky moods and rainbow moments of hitting on all fours.

Over the years we have owned other cars, but none have endeared themselves to us like our first 1926 Ford. We could not part with her on a trade in, neither could she be relegated to the Car Graveyard. We pushed her in the shed off the barn. There the hens built nests in her seats, laid their eggs and cackled. Our Ford always liked eggs.