Bob Anderson, photo by Ben Hicks

Next time you visit Columbia State Historic Park, look past the horses and stagecoach and check out the driver. It just might be Bob Anderson, who easily guides the four-horse team with a gentle tug on the leather lines entwined in his hands.

The 76-year-old Anderson retired from full-time truck driving about two years ago and returned to what he was born to do: driving horses.

“I had to drive trucks to make a living,” Anderson says. “But doing this is a lot more fun.”

On most weekends he drives Columbia’s team, which hauls coaches full of tourists for Quartz Mountain Stage Company. Anderson also drives a team of Percheron crossbred horses pulling a Wells Fargo stagecoach in parades throughout Northern California.

Tom Fraser, who owns Quartz Mountain, and Paul Fellingham, who has the Wells Fargo stage contract, knew Anderson as a top-notch driver. So when both men were looking for a new teamster and learned Anderson had retired from truck driving, they hired him.

It’s a perfect fit.

Anderson earned his reputation in the 1950s and ’60s as a Kennedy Meadows-based packer and wrangler leading hunters and backcountry enthusiasts into the Stanislaus National Forest’s Emigrant Wilderness.

“He knows his way around there like it’s his own playground,” adds his wife, Valerie.

Sharing a love of mountains and horses, Bob and Valerie met while working summers at Kennedy Meadows. They married in 1969 and began to raise a family, which meant Bob had to get a better-paying job to support his wife and children – two of their own and two from his previous marriage.

Driving trucks was a good fit for this calm, patient man.

Anderson has the skills to back 53-foot trailers into small spaces at loading docks. Like driving horses, it’s second nature. When he teaches rookie drivers how to back up, he knows in minutes if they are going to be good at it by watching their hands.

“If they look at their hands, and in their minds try to figure out which way to turn the truck, I know they aren’t going to make it,” he says.

Trucking kept him away from his family at times, but he never stopped working with horses.

Anderson first drove a team when he was 5 or 6. That was in Byron, where his father, Alex, and grandfather plowed the fields at their Contra Costa County farm.

With horse Dolly at Byron ranch, 1940s

“I probably wasn’t really driving the team, but I thought I was,” says Bob, remembering sitting on his dad’s lap at the time. “Just like when I put my grandson, Finn, on the coach with me. He thought he was driving the coach.”When Alex Anderson wasn’t farming, he competed with a team of show horses at county fairs from San Diego to Sacramento. School was out, and he brought son Bob along. It was an ideal life for a boy who loved horses and his dad.“I slept in the box stalls with the horse tack,” Anderson says.

At his Jamestown home, Anderson has photos of his father driving a team of horses during hay-baling season on their Byron farm. In another photo, his grandfather and brothers are behind a team of plow horses on land they leased in Ladybank, Scotland, near St. Andrews on the Firth of Forth.

“My dad was born in Scotland,” Bob explains. “We don’t have that land anymore, but we still have relatives there and go back every few years.”

His heritage, as the old photos show, is driving horses.

“I was born into this business; it’s in my blood,” Anderson says.

In 1954, he graduated from tiny Liberty High School in Brentwood with fewer than 40 classmates. Then he was drafted into the Army and spent 16 months in Korea before discharge. He returned to his Bay Area home, but suburbia was already encroaching on Contra Costa County’s ranchlands, and he began to look              for greener pastures.

Anderson found them in Tuolumne County, where he had spent a couple of summers during high school helping at the Ellinwood Ranch, owned by friends of his father’s.

“I stayed in a cabin at the upper end of Lyons Lake near the summer pasture, spent time at Kennedy Meadows, and enjoyed it thoroughly,” he says.

So he came back up to Jamestown and strung together a living packing mules out of Kennedy’s, shoeing horses and working as a hand at Reno Sardella’s ranch.

Ranch life also gave him the opportunity to drive horse teams.

Eight horses are the most Anderson can comfortably handle. Four horses typically pull the Quartz Mountain and Wells Fargo stagecoaches, but the mechanics are much the same, starting with the harnessing.

Every horse in the team is attached to two lines which join into a single rein. The driver of an eight-horse team has lines from each entwined between his fingers. The lead horses are up front, with the swing and pointer horses next and the wheel horses right in front of the stagecoach.

“Eight is all the horses you can handle because you run out of fingers,” Anderson says.

“A good driving horse won’t turn until the driver tells it to,” Anderson says. “It’s simple for me, just like other things are simple for other people.”

With an eight-horse team, the lead horse lines are nearly 50 feet long. When all lines are coiled for storage, they weigh so much that Anderson can’t lift them. Anderson drives enough to keep his hands callused and tough, but he recalls guiding teams of horses in the wilderness in the early spring before his hands toughened.

“I sometimes couldn’t even hold a coffee cup, my hands were so sore.”

Anderson is enjoying his retirement. He still drives a truck now and again. He also drives antique big-rigs for a friend to truck shows in Oregon and California. But his real passion is driving stagecoaches.

“It is a lot of fun, and you gotta be a little horsey to do it,” Anderson says.

He knows that tourists who ride Columbia’s stages are usually more interested in the horses and the stagecoach than the man who drives them, and he’s OK with that.

“Everybody wants to pet the horses, but nobody wants to pet the driver,” he grins.

So next time you see the stagecoach driver, at least give him a nod.

© 2012 Friends and Neighbors Magazine

Patty and her talented jumper, Destiny

I opened the garage door — and swore.

A storm had just dumped three inches of rain within a couple of hours. Much of it had seeped into my new home’s garage, where furniture and packed-up stuff was still piled.

The water had somehow reached and saturated just one box, one I hadn’t opened in decades but had steadfastly kept through many college, career and family moves. I sighed. Of all the boxes … I dragged it to a dry spot, sat down on the cement and tore open the soggy cardboard.

Inside were more than 100 horse show ribbons I had won as a teenager and in my early 20s.

I’m betting many of us of a certain age have such stuff – be it old concert stubs, faded photos, musty love letters, dried-up corsages, tarnished trophies, crumpled ribbons –  that we just can’t part with despite the elapsed time since they first became keepsakes, their questionable worth or the paths our lives have since taken.

My paths amount to a curious road map, sometimes on course, sometimes way off, sometimes confusing, sometimes silly. Still, that pile of ribbons keeps me connected to my horse-show days, a path that remains one of the best I’ve ever taken.

I grew up in the suburbs. My parents didn’t know anything about horses. Truth be told, they would have probably been overjoyed had I taken up their favorite sport, golf. But when I was 10, they sent my brother and me to a summer camp that offered swimming, the requisite crafts and other activities – including horseback riding.

From the wet clump of ribbons, I pulled out a short green strip with “Special Award” in gold letters.

I had won it on the final day of camp. No matter that I was in a beginner riding class that involved ancient swaybacks walking in small circles the whole time, and that every kid enrolled was ultimately deemed “special.” Camp left me horse-crazed.

Then I found my first blue ribbon, won aboard my first horse.

Smokey had a huge head, a short neck, bony frame and ears that were often flat back. None of these are desirable equine traits, believe me. But when I first saw him, all I saw was his tall, 16-2-hand height and dappled gray coat. To me, then a high school freshman with a few more riding lessons behind me, he was unquestionably gorgeous.

My view of the silvery steed tarnished the day after he became mine and arrived at a boarding stable several miles from home. Saddled up and with me aboard, he quickly found he could crow-hop (sort of a half buck) just enough to make me tumble off. He would then stand quietly and look at me sitting in the arena dirt.

Scared at first, I stayed off. The next day, helmet firmly in place, I got on him again, got dumped, got back on, got dumped again. This went on for some time, but my daily after-school bicycle trips to the barn continued. Then, almost as quickly as his rodeo romps began, Smokey started behaving. As if in our own little version of “Survivor,” I had won the stubbornness challenge and we started to get along. A few months later, I entered a small show and came home with that blue ribbon.

In high school I rode in shows as often as possible. I passed on proms. Rather than investing in the wear-once, lace-and-calico formal dresses so popular then, I saved every cent for lessons, show fees and riding clothes. As for boys, well, I was having too much fun with Smokey and my barn friends to worry much about boys.

The ribbons began to multiply. I marked the back of each with the show date and sometimes a snippet about the class: “Third out of 43 riders in novice jumpers!” one proclaimed.

I untangled a big red ribbon with a huge rosette and long streamers.

Patty with her mom, Mary

This came a few years later, when I was now fortunate enough to have a trainer. I also had Destiny, a stout but athletic mare my parents bought for $900 after I outgrew Smokey. I often found myself competing against young riders aboard $30,000 horses. Yet in one show class that involved jumping a circuitous course of fairly high obstacles while demonstrating equitation skills, my $900 horse and I rode to second place over dozens of silver-spoon riders. I still remember my huge smile and my trainer’s cheers. Up in the grandstands, my constant fan – my mom – teared up.

Soon after, my horse activities were replaced by college and then a career writing for newspapers and other publications. I’ve been married, become a mom, divorced, traveled to several continents, and met all sorts of amazing people. Each life chapter has affected me.

But all that I experienced long ago through horses made its mark, too. I’ve owned several horses in more recent years and still ride whenever I can. And other horse lovers I’ve been lucky enough to meet through the years are among my dearest and wisest friends.

One of them, Sonora rancher Gail Bonavia, likes to say that we horse nuts suffer from a genetic flaw. Yep, think of all the safer, cheaper and cleaner interests we could have pursued, we agreed one day while she wrapped a horse’s injured leg and I shoveled up what my gelding had just plopped down. But not nearly as fun, exhilarating or educational.

Patty's maternal grandmother, Elaine Shields Craig, aboard Flossie, early 1900s

Horses taught me the value of physical and mental strength, perseverance, confidence, patience, and how to overcome adversity. When life threw me an emotional punch, trips to the barn were sure cures. Still are. Horses, I’ve learned, can be damned good therapists.

My parents are now in their mid-80s and I’m in my 50s. I still thank them for all they did and spent almost 40 years ago just so I could ride.

My mother and I occasionally laugh about crabby Smokey, reminisce about the talented, earnest Destiny and all the horse shows we headed to in the predawn hours. We recall the time I was on a big thoroughbred that abruptly stopped in front of a high jump, catapulting me over it; the day I came home with seven blue ribbons; the awful fast-food job I held just long enough to pay for my custom-made show boots.

Those boots were also in the garage when it flooded, but they weren’t damaged. As for the blob of wet and ruined ribbons, after sorting through them for an hour or so, I balled them up and put them in the trash. No use keeping them now, I figured.

Then, the next morning as garbage men were about to make their weekly visit, I pulled the rag-tag ribbons out and put them in a new box that’s in a safer place. What possesses me to keep them still? It must be that genetic flaw.

Patty Fuller was a newspaper reporter and editor in Sonora, California for 25 years. She now works as a freelance writer for area publications, businesses and nonprofits.

Copyright © 2010, Friends and Neighbors Magazine

Patti Taylor-Welch with Missy

Patti Taylor-Welch’s post-career years have been anything but leisurely.

Her days are filled with feeding horses, fixing fences, shoveling manure, and helping physically or emotionally challenged children and adults learn about horses. At the same time, she recruits helpers, maintains a website, and is forever seeking funding to keep it all going.

The smile that shines when this energetic, determined 58-year-old talks about the Mounted Dream Center shows she’s just fine with life in her so-called retirement.

“When I add up all the hours, oh yeah, definitely this is a lot of work,” says Taylor-Welch on a recent sunny morning at the Sonora-area ranch. “But this is just wonderful. We’ve all become family.”

Several volunteers, also retired and now close friends, stand nearby nodding in agreement. A short distance away, three horses and a newly acquired pony named Krysti graze in a bright green pasture.

Taylor-Welch opened the nonprofit center three years ago. She and several dozen dedicated volunteers – ranging from teens to a woman nearing 80 – have since helped about 50 people with special needs experience the fun of horseback riding, and sense of accomplishment they may not have been able to gain otherwise.

The center, on six scenic acres off Jamestown Road, is itself a dream come true for Taylor-Welch.

Although a lifelong horse lover, she wasn’t able to own one until about 10 years ago. Raised in the Bay Area, she built successful careers in the semi-conductor and commercial arts fields. She also turned a small consulting firm, involving mask design for computer chip fabrication, into a $3 million enterprise with 20 employees. After two decades of “six-day weeks and 14-hour days,” she retired at age 47.

Her business successes could have easily paved the way for a comfortable retirement that allowed her to ride whenever she wanted. Her longtime goal, though, was to create a center for other horse lovers.

She and husband, Dennis Going, moved to their Tuolumne County property in 1997. A year later, she purchased two young Tennessee Walking horses that had already been well-handled, or people “imprinted,” as she puts it. She dedicated as much time as possible to the pair.Her vision for the Mounted Dream Center became clear after a woman asked if her very shy 8-year-old grandson could spend time at the ranch. “In four weeks, he just blossomed,”  recalls Taylor-Welch.

This experience led her to volunteer many hours over the next six months at a large Sacramento-area riding program that serves children with conditions ranging from cerebral palsy to fetal-alcohol-related disability.

She joined the North American Riding for the Handicapped Association, a group dedicated to ensuring that therapeutic riding programs are run safely by well-trained staffs, and continued to network with other equestrians leading these programs. Mounted Dream Center opened on April 17, 2007.

It has since served about 50 riders, most between the ages of 4 and 23. Four or five students are enrolled at any given time in six-week blocks of weekly lessons that last about an hour. Cost is $50 per lesson, with a sliding scale available based on ability to pay.

Leading to the nearly spotless barn and saddling area is a smooth path allowing for easy wheelchair access. Near the freshly graded arena is a classroom where students learn about horse care and nearby, a flowered-filled garden area where they receive awards for their newfound equestrian abilities.

This welcoming place reflects Taylor-Welch’s attention to detail and safety and her knack for attracting volunteers, most of whom help once a week for two hours. And then there’s her marketing savvy: Her pitches have spurred businesses and individuals to sponsor horses and donate materials, labor and money. That work, she admits, is never-ending, especially during these tough economic times.

“I feel I’ve been the most persistent, pushy person,” she says of the fundraisers she’s organized and presentations she’s made to area service groups.

Center volunteers, though, describe Taylor-Welch and the small ranch as inspiring. In fact, the center won Sierra NonProfit Service’s 2010 Volunteer Champion Award.

Annika Kohler-Crowe, 19, with Krysti

“I get far more than I give,” says Judy Fallas, 60. Once a horse owner herself, she always expected to return to riding after she and husband Ted retired to Tuolumne County. That plan was cut short in 2004, when she had a heart transplant.

Fallas learned of the center through a newspaper story but didn’t know if her health would allow her to volunteer. She called Taylor-Welch anyway.

“I discovered I’m just fine, and that this has really helped with my strength and balance,” she says. “It’s been amazing.”

In addition to helping at the center and with its fundraisers, Fallas and her husband have contributed money to help cover costs of caring for Rex, one of the mellow resident horses. And because Ted worked for General Electric, that firm’s philanthropic foundation has also donated to the center.

Another active volunteer is Trudy Olesiuk, a retired Soulsbyville Elementary School teacher. She has worked with several emotionally and physically challenged children as they have learned how to groom and saddle a horse. She also leads horses as youngsters take their first ride. The way certain children brighten up around horses is amazing, Olesiuk says, noting one particularly withdrawn boy who now chatters away when he’s at the ranch.

The center has also helped other kids that Taylor-Welch first hadn’t expected to work with. Once a week, a group of four to six boys from a Calaveras County live-in home for juvenile offenders arrives to help with gardening, painting, or other upkeep. And during the school year, students from a Sonora High School special education program make weekly visits to help with ranch chores.

“This is a huge carrot for them,” says Kathie Danicourt, 58, a vocational technician with the Tuolumne County Workability I Program, and also a center volunteer. “Their progress in the classroom has completely evolved thanks to this. … They also learn hands-on skills and their self-worth develops.”

Danicourt, a horsewoman herself, says the people at the center keep her helping in any way she can. “The group of volunteers here is just dynamic,” she says.

Olesiuk agrees. Volunteering has revived her own longtime love of horses.

“I’m 62,” she says, adding with a proud grin, “and I just got my first horse.”

The Mounted Dream Center welcomes new volunteers. Training is provided, and prior experience with horses is not necessary. Contact Patti Taylor-Welch, (209) 533-8930, or visit online at mounteddreamcenter.org.

Copyright © 2010, Friends and Neighbors Magazine