At The Farm Gate

May 2008

By Joanie Stiers





The Secretary of State named the most memorable farm vehicle of my childhood. The random plates included “JAW” and a few numbers for the used 1974 Chevrolet Chevelle Malibu my family purchased. Hence, we called the 11-year-old car Jaws.

Jaws remains the only farm vehicle my family named. We referenced others by make or color, such as the current Green Truck. The farm vehicle serves a central role on Illinois farms and often practicality prevails when shopping for it. The need for tailgates, rust-free bodies and cleanliness may become low priority. The interiors are welcome to any passengers, including those with manure on their boots or straw stuck to their jeans. Greasy farm parts may collect on the back seat and the windows remain open on a dusty gravel road while handling farm duties.

Jaws fit the “for practicality only” profile and became an odd source of both pride and embarrassment for me as a pre-teen. I should have known the three-digit price tag on the windshield meant function over fashion when Dad bought it.

Every summer, I peeled my sweaty legs from the black vinyl seat to slouch below the window line when Mom drove it through town. This prevented cute junior high boys from spotting me in Jaws, which needed a new muffler and body work. If that didn’t yield laughing glances, I was certain my junior high crush would notice the car pulling a trailer with lawnmowers to trim some area farm yards.

I once whined all the way to the nearest city when we had to take Jaws to a birthday party. We hit a deer with the good, clean, modern and attractive family car en route to the party and were forced to drive home and switch vehicles to travel the 25-mile distance. Jaws was our next four-passenger option.

But I waved at passersby when Jaws transported me to the field with evening meals for Dad or shuttled the part needed to repair a tractor. I felt something natural and American serving the farm’s needs while enjoying the country air with the windows down in our American-made car.

We used Jaws for about 10 years, retiring it before we became the Farming Flintstones. I watched the gravel road pass beneath me through a few pea-sized, rusty holes in the passenger floorboard before the car became unemployable. Looking back, foot-powering Jaws would have been the only reason for embarrassment.