Mom's Saddle

Editor's Note: In January I ran a story my sister Kathy had written about the old 1964 Ford pickup that had been near and dear to my Dad's heart. A couple years ago, she wrote about my Mother's most prized possession, the saddle she had since she was a teenager that she nearly lost several times to keep our family afloat.

I inherited my love for horses from my Mom, and it started at a young age. My Mom got her first horse sometime in the 1950s as a teenager. Of course she needed a saddle, so her older brother Chuck bought her one.

It was a beautiful chocolate brown with flower tooling covering most of it, with six silver conchos for a touch of bling. Made in the 1930s by Herford of 100 percent leather and sheep skin, it was heavy and made to pass the test of time.

Mom enjoyed years riding in that saddle on many different horses. Whether it was in a show ring or traveling over mountains to swim in Flathead Lake near her hometown of Kalispell Montana, she and her friends lived life to the fullest on horseback.

With time came marriage and the responsibilities of being a wife and mother. In 1974 or 1975 Mom sold her last horse to a family friend, but she kept the saddle. Maybe she hoped one day she or I would have a horse to put it on again.

We were not wealthy by any means. Mom stayed home while Dad worked as a logger. Money was tight; at times almost nonexistent. Whenever the money ran out Mom would take the saddle to the pawn shop and pawn it. She would get enough money to pay bills, buy groceries, clothes or whatever we needed. She came close to losing the saddle many times. At one point she did sell it at auction. How she got it back was lost in her memory. But no matter. She managed to keep it.

I think I was about 10 when Mom brought the saddle up from the basement and took it into the backyard. She stacked two benches from the picnic table on top of one other. She taught me how to cinch that saddle and adjust the stirrups. It didn't matter that my horse was made of wood; I rode many miles in my imagination sitting in that saddle. It also became my job to keep it clean, so I learned how, and I loved it.

The saddle would be pawned many more times, including when we moved. My Mom's best friend Carolyn got it out of the pawn shop and kept it safe until we found a home.

Home became the small town of Lincoln, Mont., where I was a miserable teenager until the day I overheard my Dad. He was talking about going to look at an Arabian filly for sale for $150. That is when Nakita came into my life. It didn't matter that she was full of worms, skinny and neglected. She was mine and she was beautiful. She grew into a stunning gray mare I had in my life for 30 years.

Nakita was just one year old the first time I threw that heavy saddle on her, not to ride just for fun. Of course, putting a saddle on a real horse is a lot different than putting it on picnic benches. When she was old enough to ride, I learned to saddle her properly and I took her for our first ride, only to get bucked off.

We moved again and again before we were able to buy some property just outside Missoula, and I often had to board my beloved mare. I missed having her with me every day, but if I hadn't had to board her, I never would have met so many great friends. They taught me so much and took me on many trail rides. I rode that saddle uphill and down, covering many miles on Nakita. Unfortunately, the saddle didn't fit her very well. I would have to get off and readjust the saddle every time we went downhill, which was often because I rode in the mountains.

It was the early 1990s when I was finally able to buy an Arabian saddle for my Arabian mare. Mom's saddle was retired, taken out only occasionally for other people to use, or for my preschool class to play on when we learn about horses.

It has not been taken to a pawn shop in 30 years and never will be again. I no longer have a horse that Mom's saddle will fit, nor will I fit in its 14-inch seat again. I'm not sure how I ever did. So here it sits after its most recent cleaning, still all original with a few scratches and missing sheepskin, probably looking much the same as it did the first time Mom saw it.

I have no children and not much family, and none that have inherited the horse gene. What will become of my Mom's saddle when I'm gone? I don't know. I can only hope that whoever has it will care for it, keep it oiled and enjoy its beauty.

Most of all I hope one day it will be swung on the back of a young girl's first horse, who will ride over the mountains to a beautiful lake, just as my mom did more than 70 years ago.