Maniscalca Americana ?

A Day in Italy

  "Jennifer, Is there anything specific you want to do on this trip?" The question came from my family. "Yes, I’d like to spend the day with a farrier" I replied. "Make the plans and we will see to it". I bet they thought I was crazy. I thought that myself.

So that was the beginning. The plans were already made for me to travel to Italy with my Grandfather and the 10^th Mountain Division Veterans he fought with during WWII. I had made this same trip 15 years earlier, and was unable to locate a horse, not to mention a farrier. So where would I begin to find a farrier who would allow me to spend the day with them?

The AFA had been promoting their new AFA Members only web site and it happened to have a category for opportunities. So on a cold February day, here in my little corner of the UP, I sat down to the computer and typed my message:

I have plans to visit several areas of Italy from May 21st, 2003 to June 5th, 2003. While vacationing there, I would very much like to locate a farrier who would allow me to observe or participate in a day of work with him/her. I am a Certified Journeyman Farrier and am willing to offer references. I would be honored to receive an invitation of any kind. Thank-you!

I thought it was a little crazy at the time. But in just a short while, about 35 minutes later, I had already received a reply. Marco Ruffato, one of three AFA members in Italy had replied, in somewhat broken English:

Hello Jennifer I read your announcement and I will happy to help you during your trip in Italy. I am a farrier with an Italian military diploma but I'm not a soldier I live in Padua near Venice and I work in north-east of Italy with jumping horses.
If you say ^(sic) me your schedule we could meet for a short period, I am interested to trip in USA too

We had a few correspondences through the e-mail to set a date. I would call Marco when I arrived in Italy, to set the location and time to meet.

My trip began spending three days in Rome, three days in Florence, five days in the mountains where my Grandfather fought in the war, and then north to Riva del Garda, where I would make my side trip to meet Marco. As the days passed, my excitement and hesitation both grew. I was so excited that I was going to be spending a day working with a farrier in Italy. Yet some thoughts remained in my mind: I am a single, white, American girl traveling in a country where I did not understand the language, meeting and traveling with a total stranger (who did not speak good English), and going to places where I had no idea where I was going. Apparently those thoughts were also going through my fathers mind!

After a questionable conversation with Marco over the phone, we believed we had understood to meet him at 6:00 am at a Sheraton Hotel in Padua. Since there was a considerable drive from Riva del Garda to Padua, my parents and I traveled by car the night before and stayed at the hotel where we were to meet. At 6:00 am I was ready. In fact, I think I was ready before 6:00 am. My father escorted me that morning to the hotel parking lot to meet Marco. I hadn’t really noticed the camera hanging around my father’s neck. Marco pulled up in a little gray station wagon. He asked if I was Jennifer, I replied, and he said hop in. Hummm... my doubts came back to me as there was not one shoeing tool visible to me. My father quickly asked where we would be going, and as Marco pointed to several locations on a map, a flash went off from the camera still hanging around my fathers neck. I jumped in the front seat and immediately adjusted my feet around the anvil that lay on the passenger floor. I felt some relief and had to laugh as I watched my father in the side mirror as he took a photo of Marco’s license plate as we drove away. Reassured with the anvil between my feet, the sound of miscellaneous shoes clinking on the floor in the back seat, and the thought that if I should not return that my father would find me, we were off.

  The day began with a two hour drive to the city of Udine, north east of Venice. The conversation started off a little rocky, but equipped with a dictionary for translations, we made the best of it. I tried to learn and understand as much as I could about Marco and his shoeing business during our travel time. I quickly discovered how wrong it is to associate a person’s degree of intelligence by their vocabulary. Marco’s english was very limited, as was my Italian. Have you ever played charades? Throughout a day of ‘games’ Marco’s intelligence became very apparent. 

Somewhere near Udine, I had no idea where I was, Marco pulled down a dirt road and pointed at a building saying "there", indicating our first stop. Now, I knew why I had never seen a barn in Italy before. I didn’t know what they looked like and this solid concrete building was not what I had imaged. He pulled right into an alley on the side of the barn. There was hay stacked there, bales of bedding, wheel barrels lined with forks, and all the barn stuff. I followed his lead as he got out of the car, open the hatch back, and began loading a wheel barrel with the few items that he carried hidden behind the backseat. He used a bale of shavings as a work bench and laid his shoeing tools out neatly across it. Marco is a tall man, and his stump was a tall piece of wood, his anvil was blue (I don’t know what kind) and must have only weighed about 70 pounds. He didn’t have a large supply of tools. I only saw him use one hammer at the anvil and it was a type of cross peen hammer. Marco disappeared behind a wall and came back pushing a cart carrying a single burner forge on top, and a tank beneath which belonged to the farm. Then, he lead a beautiful horse from a stall bedded 2 feet deep out into the alley, past an older woman who was busy dusting the stalls, and to the area where we would work. Marco handed me an apron, and I quickly located the broom.

With this first horse, I watched. All of the horses in this barn were jumping horses, with the exception of a couple of miniatures I found in a small stall in the corner. There are not many (if any) horses in the Michigan’s Upper Peninsula that can be considered "jumpers". So, I expected the style of shoeing to be different than my everyday work. I watched and kept the broom busy and watched some more. With each horse that was led to the work area, I noticed some similarities in the type of hooves on the horses and the method of Marco’s work, so I quickly began handing Marco his next tool. He continually commented "you are improving!". Marco did not use a shoeing box, he left each tool neatly aligned and when I questioned him about it, he told me that he liked the opportunity to constantly view the horse as he retrieved the next tool. He was efficient in his trim and reset the front shoes before beginning on the hind feet. The horses had large round front feet and long narrow hind feet. Most of the feet had very low and sometimes under-slung heels. Marco fit the shoes long and full through the quarters and heel and set the shoes back quite far at the toe. The Italian keg shoes he used were made in left and right patterns and front and hind patterns. The lateral branch was punched for four nails and the medial branch had three nail holes. Apparently this was not enough nail holes. Marco would punch one more nail hole in front of each toe nail. He first used a very large punch, followed by a familiar tool to me, a Roy Bloom E head punch, and then a pritchel. Then handing me the shoe, with a bit of sign language and an example, he showed me how he wanted me to cut a leather rim pad. Ah... I now got to actually use a tool. I was beginning to get in the program. Marco nailed the shoe with the rim pad attached to the horse. I watched. He held the nails in his left hand, feeding them to the nail holes as he swung his hammer with his right. I found it interesting that he needed to pitch his nails out near the toe of the shoes and gradually bring the pitch in as he neared the heel, I decided this was because of the backed up toe and full fitting heel, yet it seemed opposite of the angle that I drive nails. And the clip fit, although Marco did hot seat some of the shoes, he never burned the clips in to the foot. Instead, he used a strange and aggressive half round rasp to create a spot for the clip. Again, I questioned Macro. With a few words and a few hand signals, he described to me the goal of setting the clip into the hoof wall. Hmmm, same goal I have when I burn them in.

We moved on to the next horse and with each new horse I was permitted to tackle another portion of the job. I began pulling the shoes from the horse, cleaning the feet, and then cleaning the shoes while Marco trimmed. I again cut leather pads for the shoes and Marco would nail them on, clinch and finish. When we reached the hind feet, Marco indicated to me that I could trim the hooves as well. He told me that he felt hind feet were easier to work on. He believes that front feet are more difficult because there is more lameness involved in the front end of the horse and I was not allowed to trim any front feet that day. We shod 5 sets of shoes before we left the first stop. I also learned that the barn, and all the horses living there, (about 30 of them), belong to one person. Marco told me that only the very wealthy have horses.

As we traveled to the next stable, Marco located a bar where we would stop for lunch. I brought some photos from Michigan’s certification exam and some photos of horses in my work. Equipped with the Italian dictionary, we discussed my photos and the AFA certification. Marco has an interest in becoming certified and traveling to the USA.  Anyone who has ever dined with me in a restaurant knows that I like a little surprise as I often tell the waitress to "surprise me". So, after Marco ordered (in Italian), I simply stated the Italian word "due", meaning that I would have the same. And what a surprise I got. This would be the worst meal I ate in Italy or anywhere. Marco agreed that it was bad, but he was very hungry and ate it anyway, I pushed my plate away.

The next farm, a bit different style than the first, was also very nice. And again, all the horses were the property of one owner. Marco only had one horse to shoe here and the owner came out to the work area and visited with us. She was the girlfriend of the man who owned the first farm. And Marco commented to me "it rains on wet ground", meaning the same as our American saying that “money comes to money”.

The last stop was a smaller stable. There were about 8 horses at this stop, but we would only shoe three. Working with the same system we had established earlier in the day, we quickly began. Again, the owner came to the stable to visit, but spoke no English. I felt a little like an alien, but quickly leaned that "Maniscalca Americana" means American Farrier woman. I learned several Italian words relating to the trade that day, but more importantly I learned what life as a farrier in Italy would be like. I learned a few new tricks, I made a new friend, and I had an experience of a lifetime.

Marco returned me to the hotel where he had picked me up. We were several hours later than Marco had thought we would be. I thanked Marco for the great opportunity and the great day, I invited him to our country, and we said goodbye. My parents were happy to have me safely back and anxious to hear all about my day shoeing horses in Italy,  . . . .after I took a shower!