Staying Grounded.

Knowing where you come from is important. I take great pleasure reminiscing over my origins and recalling automotive memories from when I was very young. All of my early car memories spring from my father, and I grew up with the same love of relatively unlovable cars. It was always less about the monetary value (either actual or potential) and more about the story behind the car.

This past summer, I was able to dig deep down into my well of car memories and head out on an adventure to find a long lost car. Okay, so it may not be QUITE as epic as I make it sound... but it was a fun adventure nonetheless. It started well over a year earlier, when one of my aunts sent me an email and a few pictures. It was of the old Morris Oxford my grandparents used to drive. While she didn't recall the exact year, the pictures were from sometime in the 1950's and she recalled many great trips in that old Morris. My father had often spoken of this car and the countless trips to the East Coast the family had taken in it.

If she was telling me about this car it was because she had run across a local farmer who mentioned that my father had left an old car on his property decades before, and that it was still there! Like a bolt of lightening, I remembered my dad telling me when I was around 10 years old that he had left an old car in a neighbour's field and that he intended to restore it one day. The details were fuzzy, but I was sure he had told me it was a Morris Oxford.

One summer day we even went out to see it, and while I was too young to remember exactly where it was, I vividly recall hiking through long grass to get to the car, Even back then, in the early 1990's, the car was in rough shape. My father knew he had a huge project in front of him if he ever wanted to restore it, but he was determined to do it one day. While many other details are cloudy today, what I do recall is finding a box of his childhood toys in the trunk. There was a pile of old red Meccano, some books, papers and drawings and a painted Woody Woodpecker cutout he had made! For years I played with that Meccano, and I'm sure that faded Woody is still laying around somewhere...

Fast-forward to this past summer. My father passed away years ago and never had the chance to restore the Morris Oxford, or even went out to see it again, I assume. The kind neighbour storing it wasn't bothered that it was there, but had simply mentioned it to my aunt in passing. During a visit home, I got to thinking about that car and made it my mission to find it again. While it was a slightly less complicated task than searching for Atlantis or the Holy Grail, I was determined to do it without cheating.

Instead of asking my Aunt where the vehicle was located, my little sister, a friend and I hopped in the car and headed out on the backroads outside of town. I knew roughly in which direction to head, and had the name of the farmer. In our region, a single last name can appear on quite a few mailboxes, but my sister was pretty sure she had gone to school with the granddaughter of the farmer. We didn't know exactly where they lived, but it was a beautiful sunny day and we had fun criss-crossing the country lanes in search of the right property.

​We finally found it and drive up to a house, only to have our joy deflated when no one answered the door. Dejected, we started to head home when we realized that, like many homesteads in the county, the main farmhouse, set back off the road, was also accompanied by a smaller house along the main road where the grandparents lived. The same family name was on a second mailbox, so we stopped and banged on the door.

An elderly gentleman answered and confirmed he was indeed 'Mac', the person we were looking for. I told him who I was and he instantly said he remembered my father. When I told him we wanted to see the old car, he looked surprised. He told us that there wasn't much left, and that it would be nearly impossible to move from where it was. When I reassured him that it was simply a nostalgic tour to see the car and take a few pictures, he agreed to take us out there. In true rural style, we hopped in the back of his 4x4 pickup (okay, so I got to sit in the cab while my sister and my friend had to clamber up in the box!) and he slowly drove us across his rough and rutted cow field.

I spied the Morris from far away, looking lonely and abandoned in the middle of the large field. As we got closer it was clear just what a poor state the car was in. As it turns out, this one was black (visible even though much of the paint had come off), while the Oxford my grandparents drove back so long ago was green, according to my aunt. A few weeks later I was discussing the car with other family members who recalled my father purchasing another identical Oxford at one point, so it would seem this model was that one and not the original family vehicle. Either way, it was exciting to see it and find this treasure at the end of our short but enjoyable quest!

The old car had sunken so low that the wheels were half buried and the chassis was resting on the ground. At least a quarter of a century had passed since I had last seen this car, and that was long after it was first abandoned out there. The farmer told me that the Morris had originally resided in a barn nearby, but that the barn eventually had to be torn down and my father told him to simply drag the car out into the field. Perhaps he knew that he would never restore the Oxford, but couldn't bring himself to have it towed away and scrapped. Or maybe some part of him told him to hang onto it for some unknown reason. Knowing my father, the excitement and nostalgia I had finding this car so many years later would have made leaving it there all those years worthwhile in the end...

While nothing was really salvageable, there were some great little touches on the car that caught my attention, like the white gauges in the dash, the red taillights, the mechanical plastic signal arm in the B pillar and a number of shiny chrome bits that still reflected like the day the car was built. Unfortunately I didn't get a clear picture of the identification plate, so I can't quite make out the year, but in looking it up, it would appear to be an Oxford MO model produced from 1948 until 1954.

Perhaps the most interesting discovery was made when I peeked in the trunk. The spare tire, the engine head and the air cleaner were all piled in there, but it was a few rusty pieces of old Meccano that caught my attention the most. There was no doubt: this was the car I had trekked out with my dad to see one summer day, when we had pulled out the box of old toys and I found his childhood Meccano set that I would play with for years...

After taking a long look at the car and snapping a bunch of pictures, we headed home. I was extremely thankful that Mac was so helpful and willing to take us out to the car. He told me that it doesn't bother him there and that trying to move it would probably destroy it completely, so the rusty old Morris will sit where it has for more than three decades as it continues to sink into the ground.

I like to think that I'm a 'grounded' person, but the discovery of this bit of family folklore helped me feel even more firmly planted in the ground. I've had to chance to travel the world, and will continue to explore further, but I love that I have roots and a place to call home. And what could be more fitting than a rusty shell of an old car acting as my anchor?