by Armin Hecht
Tucked awya in the rolling ranch
land south-east of Vilna is a harness maker. He is Lyle Robinson, 53. At
times his son Sean, 14, gives him a hand.
Two, three decades ago, a harness
maker wouldn't have attracted too much attention. They were an integral
part of the countryside, like blacksmith shops.
Little villages like Vilna had two
harness makers. But with the advent of the tractor and the demise of the
working horse, harness maker and blacksmith became the victims of
technological change.
Now the harness is enjoying a
come-back. There is a demand for all kinds of harnesses: small harnesses
for chuck wagon ponies, regular chuck wagon harnesses and harnesses for
the big teams, the Belgians, Pecherons and Clydesdales.
Horses of all kinds, light horses
and heavy horses, are making a come-back and people need the halters,
the harnesses and all the other things which go with horses.
Mr. Robinson and son Sean found
out in a hurry that there is demand for the type of leather goods which
they are producing in their small shob by the house. It started as a
hobby last year.
"I wanted something to do in
the winter," says Lyle.
Now the hobby is growing into a
business. The Indian chuck wagon racers on the nearby Saddle Lake
Reserve heard about Mr. Robinson's harnesses. They liked what they saw
and he is fitting them out.
One of his sons, Bruce, is in the
rodeo circuit. He, too, is spreading the word. And the word is getting
around, all right. Mr. Robinson can be as busy as he wants to.
But it isn't all that easy to get
in the business.
It takes time, luck and
perseverance to get machinery, because no one makes it nowadays.
"This harness making
machine," he says pointing to a deep black, heavy-looking British
made machine by the wall, "is older than I am. I saw an add in the
Western Producer for that. I had to do a lot of talking on the phone for
the fellow to hang onto it. He had quite a few calls. To get that
machine I had to go all the way to Estevan, Sask."
He adds, "when you do get a
hold of such a machine it's worth five times the original price."
A few years ago, machines of this
kind cost a few hundred dollars. Today, they cost a couple of thousand
dollars, because there are people all over the continent with similar
ideas as Mr. Robinson's.
Machines which he could not buy,
he made himself. He is pretty handy with gas and electric welders. He
built himself an edge creaser, a little machine that impresses a firm
edge into a strap or belt. He also manufactured an edge beveller, a
little gizmo which shaves off a tiny bit of leather from the edges of a
strap so it won't curl up and become unsightly.
Mr. Robinson is the kind of man
who doesn't shy away from trying anything that comes across his work
table. "If you want a harness we
haven't made before, we'll take measurements and give it a good
try," he says. Son Sean nods in agreement as he proudly displays
his tools and hardware.
And speaking of hardware, much of
that Mr. Robinson has to make himself. Either one can't buy it
commercially, or it is so cheaply made, it would be embarrasing to sew
it into one's harnesses.
"Some of the hardwar I bought
was just pot metal. It melted away under the welder and it wouldn't
react to a magnet," says Mr. Robinson. So he ended up in his
welding shop next door to fabricate some hardware.
He is making his own hames from
steel tubing, rings, buckles, and bolts. The hames incidentally, are two
pieces of curved metal which fit into the collar of draft horses. It's
all there in Mr. Robinson's shop: halters, hames, bridles, harness,
everything one needs to hithc a single horse or a team to a wagon.
How much is a complete outfit
today? "I am asking $600 for a harness and I am selling everything
I make," says Mr. Robinson.
There is demand for such hardware
and it is growing. Many farmers are going back to horses for their
winter chores, because diesel fuel is becoming much more expensive, and
diesel tractors are difficult to start on cold days.
Yet where can they pick up
harnesses? The only commercial manufacturer, Mr. Robinson knows of, is
located in new Brunswick. Quite a bit is also imported from the United
States.
So Lost Six Leather Shop, as Mr.
Robinson's little outfit is known, may well be the nucleus of a new
industry in the area. Lost Six, by the way, is a nickname Mr. Robinson
and his family got many years ago. He and his wife have four children.
They lived at the time on an acreage near Fort Saskatchewan and the
first calf crop they had went through the fence. "What if six of
you get lost on the farm," the colleagues at his place of work
teased. The name stuck.