When I was a young man in my 20’s a neighbor stopped by our old ranch one day asking if I would be willing to repossess a horse.  He explained his dilemma. He had sold a young bay mare on a hand shake several weeks before to a rancher who lived in the next county but had never received payment.  When he had confronted the man on the matter he was run off at the point of a 12 gauge shotgun. Our neighbor Chuck had been deeply shaken and in a state of distress went to the local sheriff who advised him to hire someone willing to repossess the horse on his behalf.  That’s why Chuck came to me. He knew  I had admired his young filly before the sale but hadn’t had the money to purchase her myself.   He was so angry he offered me a new legal bill of sale for twenty-five dollars just to go get her.  Being young and a bit foolish I said I would and at 2 o’clock the next morning snuck her out of the ranchers corral without incident. 

Her name was Sunday, she was a yearling and she was beautiful.   She had a gentile disposition and when she turned two years old I started her training.  She never bucked one time with me or anyone else in the thirty-two years we owned her.  She died on our Idaho ranch in 2007 after living a long happy life.

Our daughter Katie works with Monday - 1981

When Sunday was six we bred her to a friend’s mustang stud.  Like many mustangs he was smaller yet muscular and tough.  He was of appaloosa decent and had colorful brown spots from head to toe.  The following summer in 1981 Sunday gave birth in our front pasture to a beautiful little foal who we named “Sunday’s Monday” or Monday for short.  From the beginning Monday took on more of her mustang father’s personality than the friendly docile manner of her mother.  She was leery of humans, especially adults and as small as she was she had an uncanny way of avoiding human contact. Katie, our daughter who was seven at the time, was the only one able to catch and handle her which she did until Monday started to relax and trust the rest of the family.    That was nearly thirty years ago and today Katie’s eleven year old daughter Hope now considers Monday her own.

I started riding Monday in the mid-eighties shortly after she turned three years old.  Unlike her mother she wasn’t passive when it came to accepting the strange new feeling of a saddle or rider.  During our first year of training she successfully managed to buck me off two different times when I wasn’t expecting it.  One of those times I was riding alone through some juniper covered hills several miles from the ranch.  We’d been riding for several hours and I thought she was really starting to settle down.  I remember thinking how much progress we had made together on this one day when I decided to break from a

Brook claimed her to be his own - 1985

fast trot into a canter.  Even when she was young she had amazing endurance and strength for a horse her size and I loved working with her.  In the middle of my endearing thoughts of thinking how we were really starting to bond, out of nowhere she bucked and twisted until I found myself lying on hard rocky ground.  I fully expected to see her disappear over the horizon heading for the home corral, but to my surprise she stood over me trailing her reigns in my face as if daring me to try it again.  I did, and we rode home together all the wiser for the experience.  This event happened just one more time before she realized I was too stubborn to give up on her and she surrendered never bucking again that I can recall.  After another year of use I trusted her behavior as a hard working dependable and even gentle horse. It was always obvious that she liked the kids more than more aggressive adults and because of it our son Brook began to claim her for his own.  Brook was only seven when he started to ride Monday on a regular basis.  Kate had her own little mare and Brook had outgrown his faithful little Dusty.  (See blog #33 under livestock category)  For the remainder of his childhood and into his early teen years Monday became Brook’s horse.  When Brook was twelve we moved off the ranch in California to Idaho bringing four horses with us, two of whom were Sunday and Monday.  

Nancy rides Monday using Sunday as a packhorse in the Sawtooth Wilderness after the injury - 1991

When we landed in Idaho we lived in the city for the first time in our married lives. This was fine for us, but required us finding pasture outside of town for our equestrian friends.  Paul and Sharon Taylor, a family that made the journey north with us offered a pasture on the new forty acre farm they had just bought.  It was a perfect place except for the fact that our horses had neighbors in an adjacent pasture.  This was a new experience for them and Monday, still having feelings of mustang superiority, decided to pick a fight with a mare on the other side of the barbwire perimeter fence.  This ended in grave injury for her.  Catching her leg in the wire she nearly sawed it off at the knee joint.  At first glance I thought she was beyond help.  Up until then I hadn’t experienced a leg injury on any horse that looked this disabling.

Dad rides Monday on a hunting trip in the late 90's

I was struggling with the hard choice to put her down when Brook pleaded her case for a chance of recovery.  We had used every financial resource to make the move to Idaho and I was broke.  The consideration of a vet bill at that point was out of the question, but between Brook and Nancy’s cries for mercy I broke down and took her in despite the circumstances.  The vet was a young woman named Dr. Scott who we all felt was a God send.  Seeing the situation and knowing we had moved to Boise to start a new church she voluntarily doctored Monday mostly at her own expense. Knowing we couldn’t afford to board Monday at her clinic she trained Brook to doctor the mutilated leg.  Brook did this twice a day for the next six months and by the following summer Monday could not only put full weight on it, but use it well enough to take a thirty mile pack trip into the Sawtooth Wilderness.  At first she walked with a stiff leg, even having to drag it over low deadfall trees lying across the trail, but the exercise seemed to loosen the scared joint and allow her to regain flexibility.   After that she never missed a back country trip either packing or hunting.  She was the horse that you could always depend on in the roughest of country.

Monday in harness

Recalling Monday’s life reminds me of the many rich adventures the past thirty years have given us.  Looking back through picture albums which recorded many back country exploits of hunting, fishing and pack trips, Monday was nearly always present.   Over time her reputation grew as one of the most reliable surefooted animals we had, not only as a saddle horse, but a common sense packhorse as well.  I started believing she would do almost anything I asked of her until she proved me wrong one time during elk season in the mid ninety’s.  We were miles from camp in a dense stand of Lodge-pole pines in steep rugged country and we needed to pack out four quarters of a bull elk we had shot.    I had just loaded her mother Sunday with the heavier hind quarters and was about to load the front quarters on Monday when her reputation became tarnished.  As I hefted the heavy pack in her direction she rolled her eyes back and bared her teeth at me.  Her eyes looked crazy and scary.  All at once she spun around flailing her hind feet in my general direction forcing me to duck for safety.  Losing my balance I fell head over teakettle down the

Katie's daughter Hope with her friend still riding Monday 28 years later - 2009

hillside with a hundred pounds of raw meat landing on top of me.  She had reached her limit of congenial domestication and decided putting a dead animal on her back was beyond the call of duty.  I didn’t attempt that mistake for ten more years at which time I found myself in a bind and had no other choice but to ask her to try again.  Being wiser and not taking her for granted I was much more cautious.  This time I packed the meat in clean heavy plastic bags before she had the opportunity to see or smell what was being loaded in her pack bags. My deception worked and from then on Monday joined her mother carrying game out of our hunting camps every fall after that.

 In addition to being used under saddle, Monday also followed in her mother’s foot steps being used in harness.  And like everything she was asked to do Monday took right to it.  Being a no nonsense animal she became a great buggy and wagon horse working as a single and in a team (See blogs #196 & #42 under livestock category).  

Monday is turning thirty years old next year and remains a loved part of the family and continues to pull her load here at Timber Butte Homestead.  She has been, and still is to this day, a blessing from God to our family.  In recent years she has taught our grandaughter Hope and her little friends the joy of horseback riding.

Tags: country living, Harness, Horses, Small farm, Tri Robinson

Sometimes life gets so busy that it’s easy to forget to take time for simple pleasures.  Ever since I’ve been a young man in my 20’s I have enjoyed using my horses in harness pulling wagons or buggies.  There is a certain peacefulness and satisfaction driving a horse-drawn buggy down a quiet country lane even at a time in history when it’s no longer considered a viable means of functional mobility.  

The other night Nancy and I were eating dinner on the back porch with our son Brook when two un-muffled dirt bikes went screaming down our country road disrupting the peace and solitude of the evening.  Thankfully this doesn’t happen too often here, but the harsh noise felt out of place, obnoxious and audibly abusive in the context of an otherwise perfect summer evening.

The experience motivated me to get our buggy horse out of retirement and take a short cruse in a more aesthetically acceptable way down the country lane.  After hitching old Dusty to a spring cart I trotted past our rural neighbor’s farms and houses in an attempt to counteract and maybe even heal the nerve damage inflicted by modern technological advancement. 

Horses and buggies have a way of being an antidote to the rattled nerves of many country dwellers.  However, because of the effort it takes to train a horse to safely pull; not to mention the hassle of having to harness and hitch it every time you decide to go anywhere may seem like more of a pain than the efforts worth.  For me, driving horses has always provided a special pleasure and a feeling of tranquility, especially on cool summer evenings.

Tags: Add new tag, Buggies, country living, Harness, Horses, simplified life, Small farm, sustainability, Tri Robinson

Last week my friend Duncan dropped by with some parts he had salvaged off of an old John Deere sickle mower.  We had decided to get all of the haying equipment ready for next season now instead of frantically repairing things the week before it’s time to start cutting next year.  Duncan’s thinking was that it is better to fix things while the problems are fresh in our minds.  Being old men we figure we might forget what was broken and in need of fixing a year from now.  Anyway, we spent the better part of a morning replacing broken parts, lubing, sharpening and adjusting my two old mowers.  When we finished we realized that the day was still young enough to get our hands into another project.  I had been telling Duncan about an old relic horse drawn mower I had acquired and brought home the year before.  It was missing lots of parts (including the sickle arm itself) and looked beyond repair.  It was covered with rust and the driving gears were seized after being discarded in a field for so many years.  Realizing that we had extra parts from the mower Duncan had brought (including an extra sickle arm) we decided to see what kind of damage we could do. 

The rest of the day was spent grinding, pounding, fitting and improvising until the old mower was ready for a second chance in life.  Even its old gears broke loose and turned freely after being cleaned and lubed.

If you look close enough there is a lesson in everything.  As a pastor I’ve found that a lot of folks who have given up believe their lives are too far gone to be renewed and restored; they don’t realize that God’s whole purpose is to give us a second chance.  He is the great reconciler.  In fact the entire message of the Bible tells the story of his plan to do just that.  Colossians 1:22 says it well; “Yet now he has reconciled you to himself through the death of Christ… As a result, he has brought you into his own presence, and you are holy and blameless as you stand before him without a single fault.”

Our old mower isn’t without a single fault I can assure you,  and Duncan and I are far from being like Christ, but the point is – with God it’s never too late.  His desire is that you would be reconciled, renewed and restored so that the remainder of your life is meaningful and fully functional.  All you have to do is ask him.

Tags: country living, Harness, hay farming, homestead, Horses, ranching, rural life, simplified life, sustainability, Tri Robinson

It’s hard to explain why, but there is something really satisfying about using horses in harness. Few folks use horses any other way than under saddle these days, yet for centuries horses were probably used more to pull and transport things than to carry people. Other than in Amish communities across the country a quality harness is continually growing increasingly more difficult to come by. Using a harness is rapidly becoming a lost art to many, but if the truth be known, in many cases a single horse in harness is a really handy thing.

Last week we had decided to plant a small pasture on a steep hillside just below our house.  We fenced it using mesh wire so that we could run a few lambs there if we wanted to, not only to feed them but to keep the hillside mowed down since it is too steep for a tractor or lawn mower to safely negotiate.

I wanted to harrow the soil to smooth it out before I planted it and also to cover the seed after I broadcasted it.  The only safe means of doing this that I could think of was to use a horse.  What took our old mare to accomplish in an hour would have taken me the better part of a day using a garden rake.  Not only did we get the job done easily and safely, but it was a real joy walking behind my horse seeing her do a job that she was specially designed to do.

Tags: Add new tag, country living, Harness, homestead, Horses, simplified life, Small farm, sustainability, Tri Robinson

Using Sunday to snake out firewood in 1975

In the summer of 1972 a neighbor showed up at our old ranch and asked if we were interested in buying his yearling filly for $200 dollars.  I knew the horse he was selling and had been watching her grow up in his pasture five miles down the road. I wondered if there was a catch to his offer as we had actually considered buying the filly but the original price was way out of our reach.  After asking why the reduced price, I learned that he had sold her to a rancher who refused to make good on a bounced check.  When confronted, the rancher ran off our neighbor at the point of a shotgun. Our neighbor was told by the local sheriff that repossession was the only way he would get the little filly back.  Being 24 years old I was still young and foolish enough to agree to do the repossession. After a scary venture at two o’clock one morning I became the proud owner of a bay mare that was an important part of the Robinson household for the next 34 years. Her name was Sunday.

Sunday was the second horse we owned, and the first that I was to break and train from scratch.  I started seriously working with her when she was a two-year-old and soon discovered the satisfaction of watching a young horse develop. Actually Sunday was a lot smarter about the process than I was and she made me a success as a horse trainer.  In that first year of training we rode many miles through the surrounding hills.                                   One day I was going through some old junk in my great-grandfather’s abandoned hog shed and came upon a rusty 55 gallon drum containing two discarded horse collars and sets of harness. Curiously I pulled them all out, untangled and hung them over the top rail of a fence.   I didn’t know much about it, but as far as I could see it appeared to be complete and functionally sound.  Whoever sealed them in the drum must have oiled them so the leather remained pliable after some thirty-five years of storage.  I cleaned them up the best I could and caught Sunday for a fitting.  There were so many straps and buckles that I couldn’t figure out what hooked to what, so I went in the house and dug out an old Sears and Roebuck catalogue dating back to the turn of the century.  It had pages of pictures displaying all kinds of buggy and work harness for horses and mules of every size.  After finding what appeared to resemble my great-grandfather’s harness I studied the picture doing my best to fit my newly found prize on Sunday’s back.  I honestly had no clue what I was doing, but with that old catalogue and Sunday’s easy temperament I finally decided I had it close to right.  I untied her from the hitching post and began to drive her up and down our long dirt driveway walking behind her using the long leather lines to control her.   Soon I allowed the trace chains to drag on the

Nancy & Hope riding Sunday when she was in her 30's

ground ringing and clattering to see how she would react. To my surprise she didn’t even react, she just plodded along as if something inside her told her she was made for this very purpose.  After a while I hooked a single tree to the chains and began pulling light loads; first a wooden fence post, then a tire and finally some old bed springs.  This was to be the beginning of my life-long love for working with horses and harness. 

I later found that not every horse was as amiable as Sunday.  I think she was God’s special gift to me to keep me from getting killed in those first days of training.  After years of driving new teams I’ve experienced three dangerous run-a-ways and two rolled wagons, but by God’s grace and mercy I’ve never hurt a horse or a person other than myself.  (These are some wild stories I’ll save for another time.)

Sunday's daughter Monday still going strong

Sunday died at a ripe old age of thirty-five – just two winters ago.  In the end she became the first horse my granddaughter rode all by herself and a horse I would use to break many other horses to work as teams.  She was used as a pack horse not only carrying our camps year after year into the back country, but packing out elk and deer meat.   She was one of those animals that loved to please and had a heart to be used.  At seven years old Sunday gave birth to a filly which we named Monday.  Today, Monday is nearly thirty years old herself – and like her mother before her, she has pulled buggies and wagons and blessed our family all her life.    

I tell you this story with endearment in my heart and fond memories of another dear old animal friend that deeply enriched all of our lives. She gave us so many adventures but the most vivid memory of all was the day I stood with an ancient Sears and Roebuck catalogue in one hand and some old leather straps in the other, watching Sunday’s lazy eyes role back tolerating my first attempt at using harness.

Tags: coutry living, draft animals, family, Harness, homestead, Horses, ranching, Small farm, sustainability, Tri Robinson

Tags: Harness, Horse drawn equipment, Sutainability