Measured in horses

You know how when you're growing up there's a point somewhere early in your life where you recognize that things have a value.

You might not use that language. When you're little you don't think in terms of those words; your vocabulary isn't big enough to think in those words. But you recognize the concept of value and the concept of cost.

When I was very little, my mom had this idea that she could teach my sister and me the value of things and the concept of saving money by having what she called, "her little store."

That was a really excellent idea in concept. I think that it worked really well for my sister, who saw all the cute trinkets that my mom had in her tiny store (which was a wonderful metal powdered milk tin--a thing that I am sure if it were still in existence would be worth quite a bit all by itself).  When she looked at the things that my mother offered in exchange for the total of a saved allowance, my sister recognized that she could save and get all these pretty things one by one.

I, on the other hand, the older sister by exactly 2 years but possibly not as mature in certain ways, recognized in my very advanced 5 years of age that I wanted all the things now. I did not want to save. I did not want to only have one thing or the other thing. I wanted all the things.

And my mother, being who she was, was very susceptible to begging and pleading and eventually over the months she wore down and I was able to get her to give me the things just by pleading and begging.

But even so as time passed, and I recognized what it meant for something to cost whatever it cost; for a thing to be unattainable when I wanted it; I learned that I would have to pay in some way. I would have to come up with some alternative form of value. Something to trade for what I wanted.

And as I grew older, and I do mean a little older--maybe now age eight rather than age four or five--I started recognizing what I valued. And when I was that age I valued anything that related to horses.

At that age I did not yet have a horse. I was barely scratching the surface of having anything to do with horses. But I knew that horses needed to be the biggest thing in my life and a part of my life. I knew that I was destined to be wealthy in horses.

One day driving home from some errands in Atherton heading home for our house in Portola Valley, we were driving down Alameda De Las Pulgas.  I saw a garage sale and something tripped inside me. I suddenly begged and pleaded for my mother to "turn around and go back to the garage sale quickly!!"

On arrival, I radared my way to an old saddle in the very back of the garage. It was an unusual saddle; it was some sort of plantation style or English saddle but my youth and inexperience with saddles left me at a lack to know for sure what type of saddle it was.  The person running the garage sale didn't have any information about it either.

But I was able to get them to agree to sell it to me for $20. I had never had $20 in my life, but I knew that my mother did. I begged and pleaded, and she bought me the saddle. I'm sure there were things I was supposed to do to pay off the saddle. Most likely I did some of them. Another lesson learned.

The saddle lived in my bedroom and sometimes in our playroom and other places in the house over the years. Only a few years after buying that saddle I became the proud leasee of a wonderful horse by the name of Gypsy.  In fact, my parents leased a second horse as well so that my sister could ride with me.

Me, riding bareback on my horse, "Fizzer," 1974

Nobody offered me a saddle for my horses when I leased them. I was lucky to get a bridle and a halter.  The man who owned the ranch, John Ramos, had very specific things that he provided and didn't provide when you leased a horse from him. I was given a halter and a lead rope and I was taught how to tie the rope around the horse's neck so that there was a rope to hold on to (if not the mane), when I felt at all unsure on the horse's back. Reminder: I was riding with no saddle. I was riding bareback.

So, although I became incredibly good at riding bareback --And I mean INCREDIBLY good--I always coveted having a saddle. I knew that I would have a saddle eventually. And learning to ride bareback even when I was barrel racing and going over jumps and other things with my horses; it was a good lesson. It was a good thing to have developed such a high degree of confidence and balance on a horse with no saddle on.

But bring on those saddles! While I was trained in a combination of dressage and forward seat English, I was a cowgirl at heart. I looked at Western saddles and I dreamed of starry nights and cattle and open ranges. So when I finally got an opportunity to buy a saddle from a friend, it was a western saddle.

And thus began a love affair with vintage saddle conservation and restoration. All through my mid teens and into my early thirties I learned everything there was to know about the history of the saddle. I knew about all saddles to the extent that there was any history about saddles at that time. I wasn't a historian so I didn't investigate to the degree that some historians do. But I did know on sight what I was looking at whenever I saw any saddle.

So, naturally, value in my eyes for some time really felt like I could measure it in saddles. I could say to myself, "that saddle is probably worth $800. And today I could buy five of those saddles without blinking an eye."

An 1890's era R.T. Frazier saddle similar to one in my collection

I didn't really do any of those things. I just looked at things in terms of what it would cost in saddles.

Time passes. Saddles, artwork, gold and silver, stocks and bonds, they go up and they go down.  I had an incredible collection of about 12 amazing historic western saddles from different eras. I knew what they were worth. And I eventually had to sell my horses and consider life as more of a grown-up and less of a horse woman. In your early twenties housing horses can really impact your ability to house yourself. I chose the latter.

And so the saddles were stored away safely in a dry place, temporarily forgotten or at least tucked away in my subconscious where I didn't need to deal with them.

By my mid-30s I was a college graduate and was focused on work and really didn't need to have a bunch of saddles I was storing.

But I did soon find myself in a relationship with somebody who thought he wanted to have horses with me. We bought a horse then we bought another.

We had a ranch. Then we had an equestrian facility. And we had more horses and we had more room so we had more horses. Pretty soon I was measuring the value of things in horses. I was recognizing how many horses could I own for the cost of that thing. Or how many show horses could I own for the cost of that thing. Or how many horses would I have to feed to have that bill paid. You get the picture.

And in the end, when the relationship fell apart, he and I owned 25 horses together. I owned and managed a riding academy.  But guess who owned the land; who owned the ranch that the horses lived on. Guess who owned the ranch that I invested in?

Suddenly the value of horses felt very different to me. The value of horses was negative because the horses had no place to go when I had to leave. I had no place to take 25 horses. I ended up taking six horses; it was a big project.

What I really learned in the process of letting go of all the horses that didn't come with me, and creating a life that cared for and protected the remaining six horses that I did take, for the rest of their lives, was that value is different for every person every day in every different situation and every moment.

Four of my last six horses.  Two are now gone.

I also learned that the value of the life of a creature is pretty much immeasurable. What I ended up giving up and letting go of in order to protect the last six horses for the rest of their lives... Well, it was not something I can actually give you a good estimation for. It was immeasurable; it was all I had, every day, all the time.

And I don't think anything has ever made me more aware of "value" than the experience of caring for a living creature that I care for.  We can put a price on creatures that we own. And many of us do. But, if you have committed to protecting that creature for the entirety of its life (which is how I live), then "value" stops being about anything monetary.  Suddenly, what "value" means is what you would sacrifice in order to keep that creature safe and healthy.