Saddle Sore: Trust, respect, and a shared understanding

Many of you have heard the old (and irregular) joke: “Why do men die before their wives?” The standard punchline — “Because they want to” — has been around so long it’s practically folklore. Some call it sexist, others inane. For a single guy like me, who’s only been married twice, it’s mostly nonsensical. If anything, my life suggests the opposite: Men live as long as they do because of the women around them.

Growing up on our Woody Creek ranch, I had a front-row seat to women’s work in all its forms. In the fall, the ranchers’ wives cooked for the harvest crews, following the threshing equipment from ranch to ranch, cooking a noontime meal for the men, which was the highlight of the day. There was the Woody Creek Ladies Aid Society, meeting at a different home each month, sewing quilts for families in need, raising money for a special cause. Perhaps the same group, in the 1950s, put together a puppet show that brought Aspen’s history to life for the school children and the town. The marionettes were handmade by the women, the entire production, including the set was done in-house. It could be on television today. 

Being very young, I was an allowed observer, witnessing the behavior of women in a group. My credentials were preserved by keeping quiet and staying out of the way. I was young enough that they largely ignored me, assuming I wasn’t paying attention as they talked among themselves. What struck me wasn’t just what they said — it was how they said it and what they did. They were quiet strategists, protecting the family, guiding the community, and shaping lives with a perceptive strength that left a lasting impression. One moment, they could be laughing at some small-town absurdity, the next, they were mapping out how to deal with the upcoming winter or deciding who needed help first. 

I remember growing out of that phase of my life with the belief that women (at least the women I knew) were oftentimes the wind at men’s backs, protecting the safety and integrity of the family with a subtle ferocity that could be very impressive. It was the steady breath of women determined to keep life on course.

As I grew older, that lesson carried into every corner of my life. My work, whether in business, ranching, or community projects, has been shaped by women: colleagues who quietly pointed out what I may have missed, mentors who guided my choices without ever needing the credit. Even when we weren’t working together, the friendships endured. Women I met decades ago remain a touchstone in my life: friends, collaborators, advisers, confidants. These relationships weren’t about romance; they were about trust, respect, and a shared understanding that life moves better when someone has your back.

The same qualities I witnessed in those childhood gatherings have carried through into adult relationships: humor, resilience, toughness cloaked in kindness, and an unwavering vigilance for the well-being of those around them. I’ve witnessed, time and again, how women shape outcomes without taking the spotlight — and how their influence quietly directs the course of lives, families, communities, and workplaces alike.

As a sometimes-single father, I was often the guy hanging out in the kitchen with the women after dinner, helping clean up, trying to pick up not only more knowledge on raising a daughter, but also how did you make this or that, and I’ll help with the dishes. Go to the heart of the matter. 

The day is long, and as I sit and write this, it must be said that just recently the annual breakfast of the Tony Vagneur Fan Club was held. Talk about a group of strong, talented women. There were writers, business women, ski pros, bankers, English majors — all excellent skiers — and, just for levity, Eddie, a great friend. A beautiful morning at a hidden cottage along the banks of the Roaring Fork River.  

So maybe there’s an answer to that old joke after all. Men don’t die first because they want to — they survive as long as they do because of the women who stand behind them, keeping everything stitched together, lending guidance when it isn’t asked for, offering encouragement when it’s most needed, and reminding us, in subtle ways, that the work of life is never done alone.

Tony Vagneur writes here on Saturdays and welcomes your comments at ajv@sopris.net.

Tony Vagneur writes here on Saturdays and welcomes your comments at ajv@sopris.net.