Hello everyone! It’s Emma, your friendly neighbourhood grey draught horse, back with another exciting entry for Equiworld. Today, we're venturing into the annals of history to explore what life was like for us equines in the year 0044 AD, or 44 CE as some folk prefer.
Now, before I delve into the details, let me tell you, my dear readers, that life as a horse in those times wasn’t always sunshine and daisies, but there was a certain charm to it all.
This blog, my fellow horse lovers, is a journey through my own imagination, using what little evidence historians have uncovered. We might not know the exact life of a horse in 0044 AD, but we can speculate based on the society around us! I aim to bring you an enchanting and insightful glimpse into what it might have felt like to be a grey draught mare like me, galloping across those ancient fields, hauling carts and maybe, just maybe, even sharing a close friendship with a young boy who looked after me.
Life in Hayfield, Scotland:
Imagine rolling green fields stretching out like an emerald carpet, punctuated by rugged, majestic mountains. The air crisp with the smell of heather and peat smoke. This is my home, Hayfield, a tiny village nestled close to Aberdeen, Scotland, a land of breathtaking beauty.
I’m a young horse, perhaps 20 years old, sturdy and powerful, my coat a dappled grey that shimmers in the sunlight, my white mane and tail like a halo. My hooves are strong, honed for the tasks ahead.
The sun, still peeking through the clouds, bathes the fields in a golden glow as I wake up from my slumber in the communal horse enclosure, snuggled beside my fellow steeds. A gentle warmth emanates from our straw bedding. It’s a peaceful morning, and I can already feel the anticipation bubbling within me. It’s going to be a busy day for a horse like me.
The Role of a Draught Horse:
You see, we draught horses play a vital role in this world. We're the strong backs of the village, pulling carts laden with goods from the local market, hauling ploughs across the fields to till the land for crops, and helping farmers transport their harvests. We are more than mere beasts of burden, we are vital members of the community, providing the muscle for prosperity and growth.
Today, for instance, my duty involves assisting farmer John and his young son, Ewan. They need to transport a large sack of barley to the nearby mill, and I'm their trusted workhorse for the task.
Friendship Between Man and Horse:
Now, let me tell you a little secret. Ewan, a bright-eyed lad with sandy hair and a mischievous smile, is a friend to me, almost like family. He treats me with respect, a true horseman in the making. We share a bond – the unspoken language of care, trust, and companionship that forms between humans and their steeds. It is this unique connection, my dear readers, that truly elevates the lives of both.
While other horses may be used solely as work animals, I feel a distinct bond with Ewan. I sense the affection in his gentle touches, the respect in his quiet whispers as he combs through my mane before we start our day. We may not share our language verbally, but the silent communication, the soft "clack, clack" of my hooves upon the path, and the rumble of my exhale as I respond to his commands, speaks a language of its own. It's a language understood between horse and rider, between man and beast, the ancient bond that transcends the years.
A Day in the Life of a Working Horse:
The air is filled with the joyful chatter of birds as Ewan leads me out of the enclosure, a gentle hand on my bridle, the scent of fresh grass in my nostrils. It’s the start of another day filled with work and the rhythm of our shared life. We head towards the market square where farmer John is already loading the barley onto the cart.
We navigate through bustling crowds of people – mothers with baskets of produce, tradesmen with tools, and merchants bartering for the best deals. It's a vibrant atmosphere, a colourful kaleidoscope of sights and sounds. And then there's the aroma of freshly baked bread, mingling with the scents of wood smoke and earthy smells of livestock, all of which tickle my nostrils.
Farmer John has a twinkle in his eye, and Ewan beams up at me. With a gentle “Giddy Up!”, I feel the weight of the loaded cart settle on my back and pull with all my strength, my sturdy legs propelling us forward with unwavering rhythm. The stones on the cobbled path click and clatter beneath my hooves, each stride measured and deliberate.
As we journey to the mill, I absorb the sights and sounds of the countryside. We cross streams, where water gurgles gently over smooth stones. I smell the earth, damp from the recent rain, and feel the warm sun on my back. I love the freedom of these countryside roads, with rolling hills and clear skies stretching beyond our sight.
The Roman Influence:
But my little world is part of a bigger picture. Though the Roman Empire may be far off in the distant south, their influence reaches even these northern lands. They have established garrisons here, with soldiers patrolling the area and merchants bringing new goods, enriching the lives of people and, yes, even our lives.
While it’s primarily a peaceful existence here in the highlands, rumours about conflicts and power struggles far to the south are carried north by travelers and traders, echoing in the local pubs and amongst the people in the village. Yet, life in Hayfield continues to its natural pace.
I feel a kinship to these travelling traders and merchants, carrying valuable goods between the provinces, for I too play my part in facilitating commerce. As I bring the barley to the mill, I imagine the grain eventually being used to create bread, enriching lives across the countryside, maybe even those within the Roman settlements, for every thread in this intricate web of human existence is interconnected.
The Mill and Beyond:
The mill, with its towering structure and the relentless clatter of its wheels, is an intriguing place, filled with the smell of grains, flour, and sawdust. We deposit our load and Ewan clambers off the cart, exchanging stories with the miller, who always seems impressed with my strength and gentle disposition.
There's something captivating about a good horse. Maybe it’s our size, our quiet strength, or maybe it’s simply the trust that’s cultivated over the years. The respect I see in Ewan’s eyes reflects a similar emotion I see in the eyes of the mill workers as they watch me stand quietly while John secures the payment.
We make our return journey to Hayfield, with Ewan riding along, clutching the payment bag and singing some strange tunes to keep his spirit up. The sounds of our travel echo through the landscape. The steady clip-clop of my hooves on the hard packed dirt paths and the rustling of leaves, blend seamlessly with the melodic chirping of birds, forming a song of nature and toil. It is in these moments of simplicity that life holds true beauty.
Returning to the Enclosures:
By the time we return to Hayfield, the sun is beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant shades of red and orange. We are tired but happy, our work done for the day.
Back at the enclosure, I see the other horses milling about, tails swishing in the cool air as they enjoy the last moments of light before darkness descends. We snort and whinny in greeting, each recognizing the bond we share – the simple joys of life, the comfort of companionship, and the quiet strength of knowing our roles are valued in this world.
It is an unspoken, but very real understanding. As dusk settles and the village grows quiet, I am glad to be here in Hayfield. The village lights start to twinkle and I can feel the gentle wind whipping through my mane as I begin my nightly rest, comforted by the familiar noises of my fellow steeds.
I can feel a warmth spread through me, the sense of belonging that fills every working horse like me, each contributing to a bustling little community that, even with its challenges and unknowns, provides an undeniable comfort and peace in its everyday routines.
I think to myself, despite the unknowns that surround our world, one thing is certain – the horses, we have been and will forever be, integral to human progress and development, woven into the very fabric of society. As long as there are crops to harvest, and stories to share, there will always be a place for the noble horses of the world, and our kind shall continue to tread the path alongside humanity, forever bound together, by a trust and bond that transcends time.
And on that thought, my dear readers, I bid you farewell. May the warmth of companionship and the joy of living light up your day as brightly as the setting sun lit up my journey back to Hayfield this evening.
Until next time,
Emma
