One Iron Horse Farm
1910 Prochnow Road . Dripping Springs, TX 78620 . Tel: 512.858.9598 . Fax: 512.858.9599
karen@oneironhorsefarm.com
Specializing in Secretariat/Nijinsky II X Nimmerdor Bloodlines for Superior Warmblood Performance Horses
About Us
It's About Time, By George
Karen's Story
I was born and raised on a North Dakota farm which was settled by my Swedish grandparents. The roughly 1000 acres for grain and cattle was just outside a tiny town that boasted 700 people in a good year. Of course it seems large when you look at land and development in Texas, but it wasn't that large for a grain and cattle farm that needs to be income-producing. We were farmers in every sense of the word; there was no outside income except a few dollars in the winter from fur trapping. With 11 kids (plus a few occasional strays) in a small 3 bedroom, 1 bath house we spent a lot of time outdoors, year-round. Summers were spent sleeping outside because it would get too hot in our upstairs loft. No tents -- just blankets, pillows and lots of open sky.
One of the realities of that life was that if animals did not contribute to farm operations, they weren't a priority and in fact, it was frequently pointed out that they were a liability. Their value was calculated, in part, based on their maintenance. So it was with the farm horses we occasionally had. Low maintenance was a must. We also had hardly any tack, so bareback was all I knew.
When I was 12, after two years without horses on the farm and many months of pestering, I was given a choice: I could either fly to Puerto Rico to see my new baby niece, or get a horse. I made my decision in mere minutes: the trip would soon be a memory, but the horse would be here to stay.
Left: Karen, George and niece Carrie ... a long time ago ...
I didn't get to pick him out, my father simply bought what a few hundred dollars would get him. It got him George. I don't even know what kind he was, probably a quarterhorse. When people ask me now, I simply say, "he was brown."
... and 32 years later, Karen's daughter Amanda, on Indio.
George wasn't a particularly affectionate horse. I guess like many Swedes, he had more subtle ways of expression -- he displayed his affection by not allowing anyone to catch him or ride him but me. I think my brother tried once, and later made some surly statement about George running toward some bales, not stopping, and then jumping over them. And that was George. I never really "rode" him -- I knew how to steer (in theory), stop (in theory) and stay on (now THAT I could do) by wrapping those legs around him. George simply took me.
I was a few months from my 16th birthday when I became pregnant. I was getting married and moving out and my mom said I had to sell George. We would need the money, she said, and they didn't want him on the farm if I wasn't there to ride him and I wouldn't have time to ride him anyway. I didn't have the fortitude -- or feel like I had a right -- to argue. I already felt bad enough. But I silently and stubbornly resolved not to participate in the sale.
A man and his 12-year old daughter, Carla, came out to see George and take him away. A few hours later, my father came in, exasperated, and told me that the sale was in jeopardy because they couldn't catch George. I would need to go help. I tried to move my feet but I couldn't. Then I said, "Just send the girl in to get him." My father seemed skeptical, but went out with an instruction for me to follow, just in case. I reluctantly headed toward the barnyard but before I got there, I looked to see Carla, happily leading a willing but somewhat hesitant George -- my dad told me later that she just walked right up to him.
I've never forgotten what it felt like to sell my best friend at the time in my life when I needed that friend the most. From that point on I knew that if I had kids with horses, the horse would not be sold simply for not being ridden; the horse would only be sold if he was not loved.
Over the years I've looked often at the few pictures I have of me and George and thought about how easy he was to care for -- he had pasture, his feet were basically self-trimmed (no shoes, we only saw those in movies!), no grain except oats in the winter. I don't even remember what vaccinations he had; I think he had a natural immunity to much of everything, and I don't ever remember a day of lameness.
When daughter Amanda started riding, I learned more about horses and horse care than I ever did as a kid. And boy, did I feel guilty! If only I'd known ...! And who knew there were other kinds of bits than those Western shanks? My hands probably jerked him around way too much ... so when Tom and I bought our land that would later be the One Iron Horse Farm, I told Tom that when I got my horse, I would take care of him in a way that I could never take care of George.
Karen and Scarlett, November 2006: I Love My Horse!!
So the care and the rescues and the thought that goes into each horse every day -- from the way they're trained, ridden, or fed -- is because of George. For George. I still think about him each day, and wonder how many escapes he delivered to Carla.
So yes, I've come back home to the farm, but this time an animal's value is calculated much differently. It's done by George.
And How Poor Tom Got Roped ...
I'd try telling Tom how horses were easy, saying,"I just used to leave George out in the pasture except in the winter time (see "easy keeper George," above). It'll be fine."
It took a few years, but I "kidnapped" him one Valentine's weekend and took him to a dude ranch in Bandera. It was snowing that weekend and very cold, but we rode twice a day, every day. We played Crazy 8s and on the last hand, I told Tom that if I won, he had to ask me to marry him. I won, he asked, I said no. Go figure.
The last day of the trip, he sat on the bed and said, "we have a problem." I braced myself for the end of something -- or at least another round of cards. He said, "we need land -- more land."
Two weeks later we started looking in Dripping Springs. Four weeks later Tom offered to make me an engagement ring from the rattles of a 12-year old rattler he killed on our new property. I declined the gift, but accepted it symbolically. The vision of One Iron Horse Farm had begun.
Now, I had something even better than George's spirit. I had Tom.
The name One Iron Horse Farm was chosen to combine two of our passions -- golf, and horses (when I met Tom, I was told by his friends he was the only individual who could hit a one iron golf club. I've heard the other is God). We have six children, although only teenager Amanda remains with us here at the farm. She is busy helping with training as well as training and showing her own thoroughbred horse Austin ("Austintacious") in hunter/jumper.
And Other Notes
Please note we are not a horse boarding facility, nor are we a lesson or show barn. We can, under certain circumstances, offer basic beginner lessons for small children or adults or just help you get over the fear of a horse; talk to us and we'll help you decide on a case-by-case basis.
Also note that we incorporate a first right-of-refusal buy-back option in each of our horse sales contracts. Many buyers -- especially parents -- are happy to know they will have a buyer for their horse in the future. More importantly, though, we want to know where our horses end up. Too often performance horses get neglected when they stop "performing" at top levels, so this is a painless way for the buyer to assure that each horse gets continued care regardless of where it is in its performance life. We know that responsible horse owners interested in our horses will appreciate this facet of our sales contract.
We hope you enjoy your visit to our farm.
Tom Tower, Karen Johnson and Amanda Johnson Wager
Mom and daughter during a rare br
eak at a show.
(Photo courtesy of Steve Wager)
Karen's Story
I was born and raised on a North Dakota farm which was settled by my Swedish grandparents. The roughly 1000 acres for grain and cattle was just outside a tiny town that boasted 700 people in a good year. Of course it seems large when you look at land and development in Texas, but it wasn't that large for a grain and cattle farm that needs to be income-producing. We were farmers in every sense of the word; there was no outside income except a few dollars in the winter from fur trapping. With 11 kids (plus a few occasional strays) in a small 3 bedroom, 1 bath house we spent a lot of time outdoors, year-round. Summers were spent sleeping outside because it would get too hot in our upstairs loft. No tents -- just blankets, pillows and lots of open sky.
One of the realities of that life was that if animals did not contribute to farm operations, they weren't a priority and in fact, it was frequently pointed out that they were a liability. Their value was calculated, in part, based on their maintenance. So it was with the farm horses we occasionally had. Low maintenance was a must. We also had hardly any tack, so bareback was all I knew.
When I was 12, after two years without horses on the farm and many months of pestering, I was given a choice: I could either fly to Puerto Rico to see my new baby niece, or get a horse. I made my decision in mere minutes: the trip would soon be a memory, but the horse would be here to stay.
Left: Karen, George and niece Carrie ... a long time ago ...
I didn't get to pick him out, my father simply bought what a few hundred dollars would get him. It got him George. I don't even know what kind he was, probably a quarterhorse. When people ask me now, I simply say, "he was brown."
... and 32 years later, Karen's daughter Amanda, on Indio.
George wasn't a particularly affectionate horse. I guess like many Swedes, he had more subtle ways of expression -- he displayed his affection by not allowing anyone to catch him or ride him but me. I think my brother tried once, and later made some surly statement about George running toward some bales, not stopping, and then jumping over them. And that was George. I never really "rode" him -- I knew how to steer (in theory), stop (in theory) and stay on (now THAT I could do) by wrapping those legs around him. George simply took me.
I was a few months from my 16th birthday when I became pregnant. I was getting married and moving out and my mom said I had to sell George. We would need the money, she said, and they didn't want him on the farm if I wasn't there to ride him and I wouldn't have time to ride him anyway. I didn't have the fortitude -- or feel like I had a right -- to argue. I already felt bad enough. But I silently and stubbornly resolved not to participate in the sale.
A man and his 12-year old daughter, Carla, came out to see George and take him away. A few hours later, my father came in, exasperated, and told me that the sale was in jeopardy because they couldn't catch George. I would need to go help. I tried to move my feet but I couldn't. Then I said, "Just send the girl in to get him." My father seemed skeptical, but went out with an instruction for me to follow, just in case. I reluctantly headed toward the barnyard but before I got there, I looked to see Carla, happily leading a willing but somewhat hesitant George -- my dad told me later that she just walked right up to him.
I've never forgotten what it felt like to sell my best friend at the time in my life when I needed that friend the most. From that point on I knew that if I had kids with horses, the horse would not be sold simply for not being ridden; the horse would only be sold if he was not loved.
Over the years I've looked often at the few pictures I have of me and George and thought about how easy he was to care for -- he had pasture, his feet were basically self-trimmed (no shoes, we only saw those in movies!), no grain except oats in the winter. I don't even remember what vaccinations he had; I think he had a natural immunity to much of everything, and I don't ever remember a day of lameness.
When daughter Amanda started riding, I learned more about horses and horse care than I ever did as a kid. And boy, did I feel guilty! If only I'd known ...! And who knew there were other kinds of bits than those Western shanks? My hands probably jerked him around way too much ... so when Tom and I bought our land that would later be the One Iron Horse Farm, I told Tom that when I got my horse, I would take care of him in a way that I could never take care of George.
Karen and Scarlett, November 2006: I Love My Horse!!
So the care and the rescues and the thought that goes into each horse every day -- from the way they're trained, ridden, or fed -- is because of George. For George. I still think about him each day, and wonder how many escapes he delivered to Carla.
So yes, I've come back home to the farm, but this time an animal's value is calculated much differently. It's done by George.
And How Poor Tom Got Roped ...
I'd try telling Tom how horses were easy, saying,"I just used to leave George out in the pasture except in the winter time (see "easy keeper George," above). It'll be fine."
It took a few years, but I "kidnapped" him one Valentine's weekend and took him to a dude ranch in Bandera. It was snowing that weekend and very cold, but we rode twice a day, every day. We played Crazy 8s and on the last hand, I told Tom that if I won, he had to ask me to marry him. I won, he asked, I said no. Go figure.
The last day of the trip, he sat on the bed and said, "we have a problem." I braced myself for the end of something -- or at least another round of cards. He said, "we need land -- more land."
Two weeks later we started looking in Dripping Springs. Four weeks later Tom offered to make me an engagement ring from the rattles of a 12-year old rattler he killed on our new property. I declined the gift, but accepted it symbolically. The vision of One Iron Horse Farm had begun.
Now, I had something even better than George's spirit. I had Tom.
The name One Iron Horse Farm was chosen to combine two of our passions -- golf, and horses (when I met Tom, I was told by his friends he was the only individual who could hit a one iron golf club. I've heard the other is God). We have six children, although only teenager Amanda remains with us here at the farm. She is busy helping with training as well as training and showing her own thoroughbred horse Austin ("Austintacious") in hunter/jumper.
And Other Notes
Please note we are not a horse boarding facility, nor are we a lesson or show barn. We can, under certain circumstances, offer basic beginner lessons for small children or adults or just help you get over the fear of a horse; talk to us and we'll help you decide on a case-by-case basis.
Also note that we incorporate a first right-of-refusal buy-back option in each of our horse sales contracts. Many buyers -- especially parents -- are happy to know they will have a buyer for their horse in the future. More importantly, though, we want to know where our horses end up. Too often performance horses get neglected when they stop "performing" at top levels, so this is a painless way for the buyer to assure that each horse gets continued care regardless of where it is in its performance life. We know that responsible horse owners interested in our horses will appreciate this facet of our sales contract.
We hope you enjoy your visit to our farm.
Tom Tower, Karen Johnson and Amanda Johnson Wager
Mom and daughter during a rare break at a show. (Photo courtesy of Steve Wager)
Being mother/daughter teammates rocks!! TSSA Year-End 2006
(Photo courtesy of Cindi Wallace)
(Photo courtesy of Cindi Wallace)
