A Year of Ploughing and Promise: Tales from a Grey Mare in Hayfield
Good afternoon, my fellow equines! Emma here, your favourite grey mare from Hayfield, near Aberdeen. It's always a pleasure to chat with you all about the past, and today, I'm delving into the annals of history, way back to the year 0149. Can you believe it? That's almost 1900 years ago!
The air in Hayfield this year, a breath of spring in the air even in the coldest months, feels different than other years. The men in the village talk excitedly, and there's a feeling of anticipation in the air, like when the first crocus buds peek out after a long winter. It feels like things are shifting and changing, even in our little corner of the world.
I must tell you, though, life wasn't always so exciting. 0149 was the year I was born, a year that began with a long, icy winter and ended with a warm, sunny summer, the sort of weather that allows the hay to grow tall and strong. My mother, a wise old mare with a coat the colour of dark honey, taught me all I needed to know about being a strong draught horse.
My memories from those early years are woven with the scent of straw and the warmth of the stable. As a foal, I was carefree, running wild in the fields with other young horses, tails swirling, hooves drumming on the soft earth. We chased the sunbeams across the meadows, and when tired, we’d lie down and doze, our nostrils twitching, as the world hummed around us. Our play was watched over by a team of sturdy horses – older and wiser than us - they knew the rhythm of farm life. We learned by their example.
From those big, gentle creatures, we learned the discipline of the plough, how to harness our strength for the good of the village. We hauled wagons laden with heavy harvest, plodded patiently through mud and snow, and carried riders on important journeys to distant towns. The strength of a horse is a beautiful thing, a source of pride and purpose, especially when you are part of the community, serving alongside fellow horses who share your life's work.
Now, a strong young mare with a flowing grey coat, a gleaming white mane and tail, I am part of the team who works the fields. The feeling of the plough cutting into the rich earth, of muscle pulling and power unleashed is like no other sensation.
Life for us was a mix of simple routine, work, and a shared bond between the humans and their animals. Our needs were understood and met - fresh, sweet hay, a warm stable, and the touch of kind hands. A kind, older man called Duncan looks after me. He has a smile like warm sunlight, and his gentle voice soothes my anxieties. He makes sure that I am well-fed and rested. He knows how to handle horses with respect and kindness. He treats each one as if they are part of his family, not just beasts of burden. He's one of the good ones.
There is something to be said about the simple things in life, about a job well done, and about the feeling of connection between a horse and their human. This bond is something you can feel deeply in the pit of your stomach - it is the silent language we understand with one another, a communication built on mutual trust and respect.
But even in our simple life in Hayfield, 0149 was a year of whispers and change. I recall the whispers and excitement amongst the villagers. They spoke about a great new land, far beyond the reach of our little village, and tales of voyages and discovery filled the air. The stories were of a vast land across the ocean, filled with wondrous creatures and unknown cultures, of possibilities, and journeys into the unknown. There was a restlessness in their voices, a longing for adventure.
At the time, I had no understanding of what was to come. The tales seemed so fantastical, so far removed from our humble world. But a certain magic clung to those whispers, and a faint sense of excitement mingled with the scent of damp earth and warm stables, a sensation of things yet to be discovered.
Perhaps it was a new strain of optimism coursing through the air, a yearning to learn more, to explore the wider world. It is funny to think that in our quiet life in Hayfield, we were part of a world where change was about to ripple through every corner, a wave of history just beginning to crest.
One of our villagers, a strong and nimble man named John, shared these stories with us, especially Duncan. John was part of a group of men who dreamt of making those distant lands their own, of setting off on daring adventures that would change their lives forever. He spoke of horses playing a vital part in this exploration, of horses braving treacherous journeys, helping to conquer and carve out new pathways.
The stories ignited a fire in Duncan's eyes, a fierce glimmer of longing, the kind you see in a stallion before a battle. He spoke about being ready for a challenge, for adventure. I knew he had to go, I sensed his spirit yearned for that unknown world, but his gaze met my own, a look of understanding. He could not bear the thought of leaving me, of abandoning a life in Hayfield, a stable, a safe routine. For now, he remained by my side.
But even while John told of bold ambitions, the world still held fast to tradition and the old ways. There was still the pull of the earth, the rhythm of seasons, the timeless dance of man and beast, the simple pleasure of sharing the burden of life's toil. John spoke of bringing back wondrous things from across the ocean - wealth and stories to amaze the village, yet a sense of apprehension crept in amongst the humans. For what was gained across the sea might mean the loss of everything we knew and understood in our little world.
Perhaps in 0149, no one knew exactly what to expect, the year was like a young foal taking its first tentative steps. Every horse was waiting to see where that new path led. Would the horses, our brothers and sisters, be willing to leave their home to carve a new destiny in an unknown land? Or would the call of the familiar, the love for the soil they trod, keep them close?
I know my own story is just one small part of this great history, a story shared with millions of horses throughout the ages. But what happens next? I cannot know for sure. I am merely a small speck of grey in a larger world, a mare content to be part of this community, to witness and learn and grow.
But there's no doubt the year 0149 set the stage for incredible changes that would unfold across the world. Change was on the horizon, just as the new shoots emerge after winter, and my heart - a horse's heart - felt it. And I, for one, will continue to listen, to observe, and to tell you what I see in the years to come. Until then, I wish you a happy and healthy season, and remember, in the history of the horse, our stories are intertwined and always in motion, like the constant turn of the earth, forever.
**Yours in hooves,
Emma**
