September
A Lifetime Love of All Thing Gypsy…a Tribute of Sorts…(aka My First Gypsy)
Posted by admin at 9:28 AM. Placed in Tails from the Stall, When Thoughts Go A-Viking category
Pardon the length, it’s my story and it just flows…just skip me if you don’t like long! ![]()
The backstory: I took my first, long-anticipated trip to the UK in 2000. I never thought I’d ever make it there, thought this would be my once in a lifetime trip. Even bought an expensive HD camcorder at the time and was called the mad photographer when I was there because I never stopped filming (12 hours worth), nor taking pictures. I wanted it all remembered. I had done a giant website for the Romantic Times Convention and Kathryn’s tours…was supposed to be in trade for a trip, she had to cancel due to family issues about 2 or 3 weeks prior, she just gave me the cash and said have a go at it kid! I immediately booked a flight and an escorted Trafalgar tour (by myself). I made sure it encompassed the *whole* of the UK as I thought I’d never ever be lucky enough to make it back…you see, my heart and soul is in the UK. It started in London, wound it’s way up through Shakespeare’s country, the east of the Isle, York, up to Scotland, Glasgow, back down through Penrith, Cumbria, The Lake District, Chester, Salisbury, Stonehenge and Bath. I was in heaven. And.…I kept seeing this heavy heavy but short *draft* horse that looked like our paints, but so much hair. It’s one of those things that you see…you kind of go huh. stop. process. wonder. then are so overwhelmed by the whole, that you just file that away in the back of your head. I got back home, had just bought my first love, my brand new white Corvette and a few years went by. You have to remember this, that car was my ultimate goal. I had done 3 things that year — bought my first house, my ultimate car and went to England. I didn’t know what to do b/c those were my life goals. I loved that car more than anything and swore I’d never give it up. I was to pay it off and store it for my kids one day. I then got my first horse and wouldn’t you know it? He’s part draft, part paint black and white and a bit hairier than most. I had this image in my head that wouldn’t go away. In 2004 and in to 2005 I started researching horses, genetics and breeds as I went back to school for another degree, this time Equine Ag…If I was going to own a horse, I better darn well be educated about it all, I thought. And I would have loved to be in the industry working, perhaps running the accounting of a big farm or something. I dreamed. I also figured there was no way I’d ever own my dream Friesian…and I stumbled across this horse in the romantics category that the light went off in my head I remembered from 2000 somewhere just before this time…I put the Gypsy Cob on my list of loves, but never could afford. Some crack pot at the time called Dennis Thompson had them priced at 50/60 thousand dollars and was hootin and hollerin about ‘discovering’ the breed…which confused the hell out of me b/c I saw quite a few when I was there in 2000 and they didn’t seem all that rare or hidden. I, of course, say Bartko’s site and quickly bookmarked it to reference over and over as I started researching true cost and the real history. I immediately planned for a trip to Appleby a year in advance and was bound and determined to go in 2006. To me, THAT was where the real breed was and I HAD to be there to see it first hand. I told Ryan, new boyfriend at the time, you are welcome to come with me, but I’m going hell or high water. He opted to go when he found out the ration of Gypsy men to women there…and was glad he did…I contemplated running away with a Gypsy boy several times while there, of course. I had dated a true Rom Gypsy here in Chicago for a couple of years and was just in a whirl how all so many pieces of my life were coming together and making sense. I’ve a Gypsy heart as well, always have.
Now the real fun begins…I met Terry from the White Hart online when booking this quaint little hotel pub. We talked all the time before going throughout the winter before. He talked about his da and his buddy Rob (Watson) and his horses and the breed. I meticulously planned out this entire trip…we flew in to Manchester, dipped down to Chester real quick to replace a bracelet I had lost from my first trip from the Cathedral there…then drove up to Appleby. Let me tell you, to return and drive some roads and visit places I had been before, not even realizing their significance was just positively *eerie*. We got in to Appleby on Thurs. We get there in the afternoon and for those that don’t go, A.) Thursday is when a lot of horse breeders/dealers pull in and a lot of the serious deals are made for the cream of the crop before the crowd gets a hold of them — and then they are tucked/hidden away — and B.) in 2006 they were not as of yet really busing in tourists — grrrrr — and doing any of the crazy sh*t they are doing now to try to control the fair. I regard it as the last great year and thank the stars we went that year as the last true heyday of a good fair. The Gypsies I know agree that that was one of the last hurrahs…great weather too…we got sunburned on the bank. It was no where near as overrun/crowded as now. With that in mind, you can understand, I got a very good serious education about buying, selling, trading, customs, culture and immersed myself right in to the breed and it’s history/culture/mystery.
So now you can understand the build up…Here I was, walking among the beauties there and had never in my life seen so many identically gorgeous horses of one breed in one place. It is so immensely different than anything you will see here. I don’t even have enough words for the experience. I walked the parkway next to the river where all the mares and babies used to line up and I am not kidding you…I cried. I could barely breathe. I’m choked up just thinking of it. It was like time stopped. It was…for lack of better word: magical. Cliché, yeah, I know. I was oblivious to all that was around me, like in a movie where the sound, the noise, the voices just muffled out and all I could see where the horses…the love, the personality, the calm in every single mare standing there just reached out and grabbed me. I’ve never felt what I felt emanating from those horses in any barn, horseshow or trail ride I’ve ever been on (remind me to tell you about THAT ride in france one day lol). The pictures we have from that first and second year are simply stunning…we haven’t been able to capture that since. I stood there with this one mare — nothing special, nothing stunningly conformed — but just holding her head as she dozed on my should and I rubbed her face, ears, under jaw and leaned in and whispered to her…she whispered back, I swear. It was at the end of those 20 minutes or so, that my life changed…
Ry finally got me to leave her…we walked up and down the river and my brain kicked in to a gear that gerbils in a wheel only dream of. My first silly thought (about running away from it all here where my heart is) outloud was to Ryan: ‘What would you do if I ran away with a Gypsy boy?’…he paused, his answer in a moping voice ‘Call your parents…they’d help me bring you home’. Minutes pass…analyzing, weighing the chess moves.…‘I think I might sell the Vette’.…dumbfounded silence ensues from Ryan. He thought I was kidding. I would never ever utter those words, any one thought. Over the course of Friday at the Faire, I ran all scenarios in my head and how this was going to work. I also ran the gamut of emotion from logical assesment, to excitement, to anticipation, to anxiety, to overwhelmed depression…it was a roller coaster…In that one decision, I just opened up a whole new world to myself full of a ridiculous amount of paths. On top of it all, I decided it must be a mare worthy of breeding if I am going to invest and do this, meaning I’m not getting my beloved boys. On Saturday at the fare, I viewed the mares with a whole new set of eyes. I sharpened, honed in. I listened intentenly to the Gypsies as they struck their deals, what they said, what they were arguing over, what was selling, what was creating crowds, what they took behind caravans to finish the deal when it was a serious push for a mare that *wasn’t* for sale, yet the new guy walked away with her. I questioned, I asked, I didn’t push them though. They didn’t ask if I was American, they didn’t care at the time. I figured out what I liked, what I wanted to breed, what I respected, what I should be carrying on. Ironically, I had met Robert Watson on the Hill and didn’t know who he was or that he was Terry’s friend. I asked him about the mare he brought up from the field, grass stained (seriously) and all, with foal at her side, pulling out fairy braids in her hair. I asked about selling her and importing her. I found out later, she sold for 40 thousand pounds. Later, I told Terry about the mare, and when he found out it was Robbie, we met and talked that night in the pub. We arranged to go out to his fields to see his horses first hand and , those that he doesn’t bring to the faire. The first field we went to, just the three of us, was a field full of yearlings…about 30 of them perhaps…the pictures we came home with were amazing…they travelled like a flock of birds as one. I *called* them too me in a moment that was surreal, they came one by one following each other to me from about a football length away as I squatted in the field, hand outstretched and *calling* to them with patience and love. They came, they surrounded me, they rubbed their noses on me gently. Not a one of them was mean or aggressive or scared in any way. I picked one or two I really liked…but I was worried about importing a baby, unproven. I told him about this heavy heavy black mare that I saw, so off we went to see his breeding mares. I was still waffling between the traditional black and white, which seems like it’s a must have, and my love of the solids/blagdons. The next field we walked in where his favorite mares. The heavy, and I do mean heavy, black mare he was talking about foaled most likely a couple of hours before we were there. Amazing. They still had remnants on them and the baby was testing his legs all around the munching mare. I took several analytical pictures of the mares I liked…Robbie was a wealth of info about them. It was…just amazingly lucky to have any opportunity like this. Even more ironic, was on just a random note of either being hit on by the guys there or talking to them on purpose, I had met the Vines and the Coates (and actually I think Brian Cash too, but not sure).
I couldn’t decide on a Cob and had to return first home to immediately put the Vette up for sale. (The full impact of that didn’t hit until it left my driveway and I had a mental breakdown of hysterics about an hour after…all I remember is something about becoming the ‘crazy cat lady’ and ‘what am I doing???’ on the phone with my mom). In the meantime, I began seriously researching what was already here in the United States. I wanted something imported from there. I settled on Bartko…started stumbling across Silver Dapples and at the time knew nothing about the rarity or such within this breed. I just knew it was, well different, and I like to be different and it reminded me of my dream horses of carousels and if I was going to have all that hair and that beautifully thick body, why not it be a carousel horse? I looked at 2 I found that were really, not good quality in the body…I found an older mare I liked that I think was with Loretta, but that would mean importing. I then found Celeste. She had a filly she had Bartko bring over and was for sale. Bingo. We struck up a deal, I gave her hold cash and we waited for my Vette to sell. 2 months later, Sorcha was on her way home to me. I’ve never looked back since. I’ve regretted getting involved a time or two with registries and politics here, but I’ve never regretted these horses. There is not another breed under the sun like them. I ponder if there ever will be. There is not another culture under this sun so dear to me either. And to come full swing in horses, trips to the UK and my past with Gypsies (people) before…still just makes me go ‘wow, there is such a thing as fate’ and signs to the path you should be. It brings me to tears to close this and say, I will never ever give up my love of these horses or their history, both good and bad (and we do realize that within the romance, there is always bad things…there would not be a balance to life it twere not that way). And every time I am disheartened by things within the breed, each year I’m in England breathing in a deep breathe of the life-giving oxygen that is the Gypsy Cob. Each year, I celebrate and remember why *I* love this breed, the thoughts *I* had that first year, the emotional roller coaster of the true romance that was that first year and nothing will ever change that or take it away, though we may never re-live that type of time again.
With Gypsy Love, thank you for reading my story.
Kat
Tags: Appleby Fair, Appleby Faire, Buying First Gypsy, England, England Gypsy, Gypsy Cob, Gypsy Gold, Gypsy Horse, Gypsy Rom, Gypsy Tinker, Gypsy Vanner, Horse Fair, Stowe Fair