(please visit our French site for regular updates) Markash - 25 and still beautiful !   News 2012

Sometime during summer 1976 – I work outside; most probably I am cleaning the fountain, or something similar on the other side of the road. Today is the first day where my godfather – the Götti, as we Swiss say – teaches riding lessons, for children. MY Götti! And I am not allowed to go. I cannot recall my feelings then, but with today’s knowledge I would say that I was angry, frustrated, disappointed and sad – all at once. All of a sudden, my mother appears – come on, hurry, we have to go. Big question mark, what is she up to now?

And sure enough, she drives me to where two gentle horses are already turning their circles, a handful of children sit and stand around the lunge ring. Finally it is my turn and I am heaved on the big, dark brown, silky, soft body – I love dark brown, almost black horses – my favorite Indian chief Winnetou had one of these too – just that this one was called Vermo and belonged to a “cavalry friend” of my Götti. I laugh a bit spitefully, because the kids bob up and down drolly when trotting – the English trot, looks so easy – I wasn’t laughing long, it is my turn and I realize quickly that I was too forward once again. It is not so easy to find the right rhythm. I am ashamed of my spite and finally, finally I figure it out. Well after all, it is really simple.
My mother has left already and I may ride home on Vermo, together with the daughter of his owner - a full 3 km paved road and we are at a walk of course – never, never ever do I want to get off.
The experience is engraved in my system ever since and horses have been my constant companions, many came and went and I develop into an average trail-rider who exercises many people’s horses. None of them belongs to me and the connection is never quite what it was with Vermo.
Until, sometimes during the early 90es, a friend of mine buys a tall, almost black gelding called Esmeraldo. The next time at the barn I am allowed to ride him and we leave in a small group for a ride in the woods. It is getting dark and I can feel the soft strides of the horse beneath me and also that I am frightened. I can’t see anything and when the group starts galloping I am terrified and can only clutch onto his mane and ask him to take good care of us. The power and the confidence which are instantly seeping though my body are incredible. Two days later, Esmeraldo was dead. I only met him once, the connection however stayed forever.
At about the same time I meet Markash, the first horse which would belong to me on paper although I didn't own him right away. Another dark brown horse, not as dark like Winnetou’s Iltischi, or Vermo or Esmeraldo. Markash has done a good job engineering our encounter and I admit that he was very patient with me. 25 years after having been heaved onto Vermo for the first time I now own my own horse, and one that is incessantly pulling strings behind my back and so manages my change from my promising career in IT to become a facilitator in equine facilitated experiential learning.

Today, 20 years after he pushed himself into my life he still works enthusiastically as a teacher in equine facilitated experiential learning – he is a master. Visionpure was his idea and from today’s perspective a lot of what happened makes sense. However, why the hell he absolutely wanted to go to France is still a mystery to me :-)
Maybe people here need the horses wisdom more than anywhere else? Visionpure is very successful and during the last 3 years our horses have touched many hundred people, there where no one else can get to so easily – in the heart, in the body, in the soul.

I wish you a beautiful 2012.

Eva

p.s. we offer a program called NOW in English and French, in cooperation with Carol Roush one of Linda Kohanov’s master instructors, please do contact me if you are interested or visit www.medicinehorseranch.com for information in English.