Published: Wednesday, February 2, 2005

Forged in Palo Alto
Margie Lee is a horseshoer of a different gender

Photos by Norbert von der Groeben, text by Sue Dremann

Click on a thumbnail to view a larger image!

Margie Lee performs a hot seating on Sandy at Isola Stables in Portola Valley. The procedure is done prior to shoeing determine the best fit.

"Don't pee here, or you are in big trouble," Margie Lee said, giving the big horse a gentle thump on the side. She braced his front hoof against her leather apron, deftly holding a red-hot, 900-degree horseshoe in a pair of tongs. As Lee applied a steady pressure to the bottom of the horse's hoof, it sizzled, and a cloud of smoke that smelled like burnt hair billowed up.

Indy, the nine-year-old gypsy horse, stood placidly as Lee, a farrier, or horseshoer, studied the burned pattern on the bottom of the hoof and shoe. She had just done a hot seating to tell how the shoe will fit.

Lee heats the horseshoe to a red-hot 900 degrees (below) so she can pound the shoe into a custom fit.

Lee, 46, has been shoeing horses for 22 years. She's one of only a small percentage of women in the profession (two to four percent); where the iconographic image of a farrier is more likely to be a large muscular man, not a privileged Palo Alto girl.

Accompanied by her two dogs, Mr. Wizard, a Jack Russell terrier and Pumpkin Pie, an orange-colored mutt, she travels in a big white truck loaded with rows of horse shoes, a forge, anvil and grinder and a collection of other equipment. It serves as her mobile office.

Lee walks a re-shoed Sandy back to the barn at Isola Stables

Back at the anvil, Lee hammers the hot shoe into the proper fit for Indy. Each horse gets a custom fit. Just like people, their feet can roll in or out, causing uneven wear, and that can cause leg and foot problems. She checks the fit again, then grinds off the rough edges before making the final fit. Sparks fly as the shoe emits a high-pitched shriek against the grinding wheel.

Lee and companion, Mr. Wizard, get ready to visit a client. Her truck is both her office and her workshop.

Lee again lifts Indy's foot with a grunt. She is bent over nearly in half, balancing the horse's foot, inspecting and trimming the frog -- a thick pad that acts like a big shock absorber -- and the hoof wall, to which a shoe is attached. She shoes four to five horses a day; up to 20 a week.

"It's physically very, very difficult. It's not something I can do when I'm 65. Ironically, the better you are (over the years), the less physically you are able to do it," she said.

Palo Alto farrier Margie Lee grinds a horseshoe for a perfect fit at Isola Stables in Portola Valley.

Lee is considered a master of her craft. Other farriers might be cheaper (she charges $225), but she's the one owners call when they need a special fit.

"Margie is the miracle worker," said horse owner Phyllis Leonard, whose 13-year-old, Stretch, a red and white paint, is in line for a new set of shoes at the Horse Park in Woodside.
" I switched horseshoers once, and he was lame," Leonard said. "Now he's sound."

"He needs the fancy tennis shoes," Lee said.

At Full Circle Training in Portola Valley, Lee prepares to shoe July. She shoes as many as 20 horses each week.

Lee grew up around "truckloads of horses." Her grandfather, Dr. Russell Lee, a founder of the Palo Alto Medical Clinic, owned the land which is now Foothills Park. She grew up there on the big ranch with all of her cousins. "Every kid got a horse at age three," she said.

Before becoming a farrier, Lee was getting ready to go to law school. But she became intrigued by horseshoeing when her own horse went lame. As Lee watched a farrier friend work on the problem, she fell in love with the craft.

She checks the level before applying the shoe to the horse’s hoof

She fell in love with and married Don Gustafson, a former opera singer-turned farrier, whom she met at a horseshoeing convention in 1991.

It's proven to be a good life for the couple.

"I love it very much," she said as she gazed out at the oak-studded hills and a mauve morning sky; scores of redwing blackbirds wheeling overhead.

Lee hugs her husband, Don Gustafson -- also a farrier after a morning of shoeing horses in Portola Valley.

Is there anything else she'd rather be?

Lee stopped to ponder.

"I think being queen would be even better."

E-mail Staff Writer Sue Dremann at sdremann@paweekly.com