Time to read: 14 minutes(s)

Go by horse

How a resident of a remote Ryazan village bred horses and gave tourists rides, but almost became a "mass riot organizer."

"From the age of five, I was second-riding a horse, riding solo at seven, and saddling one at nine. By the time I graduated from school, I dreamed of escaping the village, the mud, the hard physical labor, the rain, the frost, and the wind, so I enrolled at Baumanka to study engineering. I thought, after graduating, I'll be sitting in an office, with clean shoes, free of all that manure. After a year of studying, I became homesick, a year after that, I volunteered at a private stable, and after another six months, I dropped out and decided to work with horses.", says the organizer of the equestrian tourism complex "Riding along Meshchera" Evgeny Pogonin.

Now his house is "in the seven winds." Surrounded by fields, forests, including those of the Oka Nature Reserve, paddocks, electric shepherds, a small stable for horses, and the horses themselves—horses, horses. Some are playful, some are curious, some are greedy and some claim to absolute dominance. And manure, of course. The big world begins far away, about 20 kilometers away. Evgeny tries to connect with it only when absolutely necessary, but one day this big world, along with big politics, came to him. About the relative freedom on the edge of the Ryazan region, the sudden confiscation of his old car, and the search for "banned literature" in his house—in this NeMoskva article.

From "city conquest" to nature reserve

Evgeniy's parents, biologists and entomologists, moved to the Krasnoyarsk Territory after graduating. Their son had seen horses since birth, and they themselves owned two. They used them as the main labor force on the family farm, as well as their primary means of transportation in the countryside. In the 1990s, his parents decided to take up farming and moved to a village in the Krasnoyarsk Territory. They farmed there for about 10 years, and in 2001, they were drawn to the Ryazan countryside, familiar from their student days. They soon found themselves in Orekhovo, Ryazan. Having experienced the village life, Evgeniy set out to "conquer the big cities," enrolling in the Kaluga branch of Baumanka. After just a year, he realized how much horses were missing in his new life and began working part-time at a local stable. 

— At 20, you want to show off your skills in front of your friends and the opposite sex, maybe even seem "cool." But a friend of mine from Moscow kept saying I looked like a "country bumpkin." One time, I was at his place; we were expecting guests, including girls. He made fun of my drab T-shirt and handed me his trendy Hawaiian shirt, advising me not to let on that I was from the countryside. So there we were, and he was bragging about his graphic design and DJ skills, and every now and then he'd shut me up, like, "Oh, come on, stop talking nonsense, just shut up." At some point, I got fed up and started with, "I don't really know much about all this. I'm from the countryside myself, I work with horses, I can tell you all about them." The girls were like, "Really?! Go ahead and tell me, it's so interesting!" Within a couple of minutes, I was the center of attention. And I thought: coolness is not in running after something modern, youthful, but in doing your own thing, which you know and love.

That was the end of his studies, and Yevgeny returned to Orekhovo. Or rather, he tried for a long time to enlist, first in the Cavalry Escort of the Presidential Regiment, then at the TsSK equestrian center, but was rejected for trumped-up reasons. He served in the artillery—ironically, his unit was stationed just across the street from the cavalry regiment. Upon returning from the army, he went to work at the Oka Nature Reserve as a forester (state inspector for the protection of the reserve's territory). His cordon was 10 kilometers from home.

We're sitting in an old house with creaky, sagging floors, but it's warm and cozy. This is the headquarters of the stable's staff: the complex's director, the administrator and instructor, Daria, friends and volunteers—often residents of the capital who escape the hustle and bustle here. Even foreigners used to come here to volunteer, but recently they've become "unfriendly" to the state.

In the center is a dining table with many mugs with images of horses on it. This is "portraits" A collection of local herd members, painted by a Moscow artist. The entire collection will be ready soon. On the wall is a unique information board displaying the "Rules of this House." Among them are, for example, "Hold your head high," "Love each other," "Always tell the truth," "Try at least once," "Do what you love." And a slightly rebellious one: "Consciousness determines existence."

Here you can cook lunch or just have coffee. Important decisions are made here.

Fourteen years ago, Evgeny learned that the horse he'd fallen in love with at the Tver equestrian club was for sale. He bought it, and in November 2010, a local herd began to form. At the time, Evgeny was working at the nature reserve, juggling both his youth and his "country background" with other duties. This didn't sit well with his superiors. They repeatedly tried to catch him absentee, even though his work itself was fine. Evgeny, like other foresters, expelled mushroom pickers and fishermen from restricted areas, caught poachers, and put out fires.

"I moved around the cordon on horseback, or on skis, or on foot—in areas where even walking was difficult. I loved my job. But sometimes I got strange assignments: painting a barrier that hadn't yet faded, standing "here" the entire workday. I asked questions, and management didn't like it. In 2018 I took part I competed in the All-Russian Competition for Young Entrepreneurs and reached the finals. I left on my day off and stayed in Moscow for an extra day. This was another reason I was asked to resign. I'd had to write explanatory notes before, explaining why I was absent from work on my legal day off. Seriously! — the interviewee recalls with a smile. — "At the time of my resignation, I was earning about 12 rubles a month. I was essentially volunteering, but it was worth it."

For a walk with insurance

"Fr-fr," "hrm-hrm," the horses say, taking the salted "blackie" with their lips. Several horses dutifully line up for the treat, but one chases them all away and picks up the last crumbs. Evgeny laughs:

- Well, of course, how could we do without you? — he reproaches the horse. — Has the right to! - This is already for me. - This is a mother and grandmother of many children, Vanda. I had to treat everyone before she noticed.

Horses reach out to him from all sides—to enjoy a cracker, to receive their share of attention from their owner, to offer their necks for scratches. There are 14 horses in the stable. Evgeny says some are like close relatives, others like distant relatives, but they all receive equal attention.

There was a moment when Evgeny decided to give up on this business. His horse died on a hike—whether it was his fault or an accident—but he blamed himself for the tragedy. He'd overlooked it. He'd failed to prevent it. He had to discuss the matter with a psychologist, a longtime and good friend. She explained that she, too, had had her share of setbacks and even tragedies in her professional life, but that didn't mean she should stop helping others. "Zhenya, you really shine when it comes to horses!" she assured him. And Evgeny felt a little better.

Now he admits that he has a warmer attitude towards those volunteers who come to observe the horses and interact with them, rather than to ride them.

You can come here for a horseback ride or a multi-day hike. It sounds tempting, but if tourists are careless, it ends badly. No matter how tame the horses are, remember the saying: "A horse bites from the front and kicks from the rear." They are also quite skittish and capricious animals.

"There were some unfortunate falls, and we found a way to insure our guests. One company rented our guesthouse this summer, booking horseback riding and riding lessons. Everyone was fully briefed. The ride was almost over, but one horse got spooked and bolted [rushed into an uncontrollable gallop]. Several guests fell. There were no visible injuries, but we insisted on contacting the medics and the insurance company, but they refused. In the end, they spent a few more days relaxing with us and then left without paying. Everyone argued that we owed them. So, while the business is noble, it's not without conflicts and customer dissatisfaction. Actually, it's not a business, it's a way of life. I just made it self-sufficient, and then a little more. It's enough to feed the horses and my family."

"Sit up straight, relax your lower back, and put your foot in the stirrup. Select the reins. A slight right rein pulls the horse to the right; a left rein pulls it to the left," says instructor Daria, setting off on a ride with another group. People come from Ryazan, Spassk-Ryazansky, and Izhevsk for these rides. Evgeny says of the village of Orekhovo itself, "it's dying." Evgeny hasn't been able to find a groom for a long time: no one locally is willing, a good one was taken away by the "SVO," and another one traveled from another region but never arrived, but he still believes the right person will be found.

Meanwhile, the locals received Evgeny and his horses with great apprehension.

"My neighbor keeps asking about me: why is he always so cheerful and energetic, but doesn't drink? He's probably taking something illegal. The neighbor reassured them, saying that sobriety isn't a crime. Then there was some excuse, so I had a little drink. The neighbor noticed and cheered everyone up: he said he saw me drunk, everything's fine, he's one of our guys!"

He can talk endlessly about his work and horses; a day wouldn't be enough to listen to them all. Here are just a few.

The story of the "unbroken" horse:

My younger sister has been living in the city for a while, but she visits from time to time, and she decided to come ride with friends. I wasn't there at the time; I was off to our second equestrian project, which is in the Caucasus, in North Ossetia. She assured me she could handle everything herself. Then she tells me: she saddled the horses, including Vybor, took them for a ride, and everything was fine. We returned to the base. She looks up, and Vybor is standing there in an electric fence, bareback. How come? It turns out she'd taken Vermut, who had never been ridden, instead of an experienced horse. It's just that all our horses are so used to people, so sociable, that they saddled him—oh well. Vermut must have come back to his fellow horses after the ride and said, "It seems I've been taken advantage of. They said I'm being ridden now. So what now?"

The riders are so different:

"Some people don't understand that horses are alive, with their own personalities and habits. They'll ride a few times and say, 'Wow, that was so cool! I pulled her like this, then like this, then kicked her... That's it, I know how to ride a horse!' Then they fall and complain: 'Your instructor is bad,' they say, 'why didn't she prevent the fall?' And once, a grandmother brought her grandchildren for a ride. She suddenly asked if she could ride too. I gave her permission and got distracted by my own business. I looked—she sat down, relaxed her lower back, picked up the reins, and calmly established contact with the horse. I was just surprised. It turned out she'd worked as a jockey in her youth. Old school.

About unique employees:

"Every one of our employees and our frequent guests is unique. For example, our administrator and instructor, Daria. In the summer heat, mostly due to insects, our rides take place early in the morning, almost at night. Dasha would wake up at three in the morning and saddle the horses by four. And our guests would leave Ryazan at one in the morning to arrive for the ride. Horses can't stand idle for long periods; they need to keep moving. And only the most passionate, most devoted horse people can come for a ride at night."

And a bit of Orwell

Yevgeny lives on the outskirts of the Ryazan region, his hands full, but he tries to stay grounded in reality. In March of this year, he noticed no campaign activity among most of his circle. Electing a president is a crucial step, and it's important to understand who the incumbent's competitors are. He saw online that Boris Nadezhdin, for example, had done a great deal of campaigning, but official sources barely mention him; everyone still talks only about Putin. And he's not even promising anything anymore. In other words, there's no campaign at all. He wrote some thoughts on the topic on social media, in private WhatsApp discussions, and then forgot about it. But some haven't.

— I'm driving to my polling station, and I see a traffic police car whizzing past, as if there was a fire. I pull up to the station — they are waiting for me"Show me your documents, your headlights aren't on, why is the car so old and shabby, let's go get it inspected." After two hours of unjustified delays and fruitless questions on my part—like, when would they finally let me go and stop interfering with my right to vote at the polling station—I was asked to proceed to the polling station under escort. I was fed up with this whole circus and called the police. The police arrived, the traffic police left soon after, and the police confiscated my car—supposedly, the traffic police suspected it had been in a serious accident, the VIN number might have been changed, and the car was being sent for an examination. The family's other car was being repaired—an old Niva, not particularly suitable for trips into the city, so for a long time I had to travel on foot, by bus, or by hitchhiking. Both me and my pregnant wife had to do the same.

Evgeny filed complaints with all the relevant authorities, but he couldn't get his old Ford back. He was offered the chance to take the car in for inspection himself, but he refused. They wouldn't give the car back, so Evgeny filed complaints again. Almost two months passed, and then... they came home "to inspect the residential premises", presenting a supposed court order.

The document contained the following lines: “Information was received about the organization by E.S. Pogonin of mass riots, accompanied by violence, pogroms, arson, destruction of property, the use of weapons, explosive devices, explosive substances, as well as armed resistance to a government official <…>.”

Evgeny photographed this part, printed it out, and placed it on his display board, next to the "Rules of This House." It served as a reminder: this could happen to anyone.

"I didn't plan to become an oppositionist, but I have the right to talk about the election campaign, the laws being passed, the fates of politicians. Or is that already prohibited and illegal? Is it still possible to discuss things in our country, or is it undesirable? And here's another thing: when they came into the house, they said they would look for banned literature. I was surprised: do we even have a list of banned literature? Where can I find it? I showed them my books, which were on the windowsill: a guide to rare birds in Russia, the Red Data Book of the Ryazan Region... Orwell wasn't even there, but his story was happening to me right here and now. A circus with horses.

The flow of complaints from him increased. He wrote a statement requesting access to his case file, which had issued a court order to inspect his home, but the court found none. At one point, he truly felt like the hero of a literary fantasy, but he clung to reality with all his might.

The whole affair dragged on for six months. When he was finally informed that the inspection had been completed and the car could be picked up, he was again unable to do so: either the police officer handling the car had been replaced for the day and had already gone home, or he had gone on sick leave. When Evgeny was finally informed that the car could be picked up, it turned out to have a dead battery and flat tires. The owner demanded that the car be restored to its original condition and returned to where it was picked up. After much back-and-forth, Evgeny was forced to bring a charged battery and inflate the tires himself. He never received any documents confirming or refuting the "accident" committed with the car, and the police completely stopped responding to his complaints. Evgeny never understood who had made such a fuss, or why.

It's strange to hear this whole story here, where the mere step away from the horses is enveloped by silence, pressing down until your ears ring. The remaining leaves on the trees barely rustle. It's overcast, but you can see where the earth meets the sky. The vastness is breathtaking, and it's hard to believe that just a hundred kilometers away, high-rises are swarming over one another, starved for space.

Another shift of riders set out for a ride. They, too, are silent: the horses tread softly on the ground. Evgeny is still trying to process what happened during his breaks from work. He still breaks in the horses and, while he takes over the groom's care, is building a house for his family, which grew by one in June. He and his wife have welcomed a baby girl, whom they named Mira, a very beautiful and meaningful name.