Greg Nelson is a Montana artist and former teacher with two art degrees. His lifelong connection to cars was shaped in wrecking yards and body shops across the state. Fordhenge, built from salvaged vehicles from a Billings wrecking yard and one hauled from a nearby river, honors memory, place, and the machines that endure.

If you drive through south-central Montana long enough, you’ll find yourself in Edgar, a tiny town that still feels like pure Americana. Grain silos, open fields, and the quiet sweep of country highways. It’s the kind of place where the wind carries stories, old machinery rests in barns, and every so often, something unexpected rises out of the prairie.

That’s where Fordhenge sits, on my little patch of property, just off the road. It’s my version of a sculpture garden, though most folks don’t expect a garden made of eighteen Ford vehicles from the 1950s and through early ‘60s. Some stand upright like ancient pillars, others tip at angles that catch the light, and a few rest sideways, as if frozen mid-stride. Rusted fenders, sun-bleached chrome, and curved hoods from a time when cars were built with style and swagger, they all form this ring of steel silhouettes. At dusk, the shadows stretch long, and the whole thing looks like some prehistoric monument that was left behind by car-obsessed giants.

I’ve been around cars for as long as I can remember, working in body shops across Montana and working with my dad. He taught me more than mechanical skills, he showed me a way of living and working that people in our community still remember and respect. That foundation stayed with me years later when I visited Carhenge in Alliance, Nebraska. I remember standing there thinking, “I could do something like this, but I want the cars to stay cars.” That’s why I made one very intentional choice while building Fordhenge: I kept every vehicle in its original color. The patina, the wear, the dents–everything that tells its story remains, but anything that could leak oil or attract rodents has been removed. It honors not only the cars themselves, but the relationships I’ve built over a lifetime of swapping parts, sharing stories, and fixing iron with my dad and car buddies.

Now that car mentioned at the start, the one hauled from a nearby river has quite a story. While working at the Billings wrecking yard, I pulled it from the river and sold it to the yard. It sat there for twenty years while people stripped it piece by piece. Eventually, I bought it back, and now it stands at Fordhenge alongside the other cars and even a few alligators, or, as I like to call them, Louisiana guard dogs, a playful nod to my wife’s home state.

Fordhenge is also a memorial garden. For each car friend I’ve lost, I’ve planted a tree. Their memories stand here beside the cars, rooted, growing, and always part of the landscape. If you ever find yourself near Edgar, you’re welcome to stop. Take your time, and enjoy this quirky corner of Montana history. Just look, don’t touch, and let Fordhenge put a little smile on your face.