This morning as I was cooking bacon I was using my old fork,...as usual. I always remembered it in my mother's kitchen drawer. When she passed away I brought it to my kitchen. My grandmother lived with us when I was growing up and she always used it. It was old then. So somewhere along the way I began to think of it as my great-grandmother's fork. It could even be older than that.
It has a wooden handle with tiny brass nails holding it together.