History of Horses in the year 0735

Hello my dear Equine World readers, Emma here! It's been a while since my last post, the summer months have been a whirlwind of activity as usual, but I’m finally settling back into a routine. The Highland air has been a bit nippy these past few weeks, the early autumn winds nipping at my flanks, but a good feed of oats always perks me up. I’ve had some truly memorable moments to share though, and thought they were well worth scribbling down before they slip my mind.

As you all know, Hayfield is a beautiful spot just outside of Aberdeen in the heart of the Scottish highlands, and a great place to be a draught horse. Our life here is full of purpose, strength, and that glorious sense of freedom that only the open moors can provide. It's not all rolling meadows and windswept heather though, as you'll see from my adventures below.

So, let's wind back the clock, to 735...

Early summer began with the most magnificent undertaking - building the new irrigation ditch for the barley fields! Our whole team of strong, steady horses were called upon for this colossal effort. I must admit, even though we’d worked alongside the villagers for many years, pulling ploughs and transporting supplies, the sheer scale of this task left me feeling slightly overwhelmed! But, as we set to work with a mighty tug, the nervous anticipation transformed into a sense of pride and shared purpose.

You see, we horses aren’t just about pulling things; it's all about teamwork, an unspoken understanding that flows through the harness and chains. Each mare and gelding knows his place in the line, feeling the weight and responding instinctively to the rhythm of the other. This deep bond amongst the equine kind is truly something special, something the humans often seem to forget.

We laboured under the watchful eye of old Duncan, the most experienced amongst us, his wisdom guiding our efforts. Every snort of approval, every flick of his tail, reinforced our mission and encouraged us to dig a bit deeper, to pull with a bit more might. Day after day, the earth yielded to our collective strength, the scent of fresh earth filling our nostrils, and a shared satisfaction tingling down our flanks as we saw the channel taking shape.

The village carpenter, Thomas, worked tirelessly alongside us. His deft hands hammered the wood that lined the ditch, the rhythmic tapping providing a welcome soundtrack to our tireless work. He even created a small bridge, strong enough for the farm’s wagon to cross the channel without fear of getting stuck. His carpentry skills never ceased to amaze me; the precision with which he handles tools, the care with which he crafts every piece, is something I find deeply admirable.

When the ditch was complete, and the waters began flowing, filling the fields with life-giving moisture, we all shared a silent, shared triumph. You could see it in every eye, every snort of pride – the human’s joyous clapping echoing our unspoken exhilaration.

Later that summer, a wonderful opportunity came my way. Imagine my excitement when the local farmer, Jamie, invited me to be part of the team harvesting the fields! Our hard work during the early months of the year had paid off, and now the barley was ready to be gathered in.

I was thrilled to be trusted with such an important role! Our journey took us through fields of shimmering gold, the warm sun gently kissing my coat. The scent of the barley was intoxicating, reminding me of the sweetness of autumn days. As I stepped in the tracks of the wagon, I felt a sense of gratitude for the trust that had been placed upon me. I wouldn’t disappoint Jamie or any of the village folk.

The rhythmic thudding of the wagon wheels was almost soothing as I trotted beside it, each stride carrying us closer to the mill. With the weight of the barley swaying in the back, it made me feel powerful, and strong, and oh so useful! I never tire of this feeling of importance, of knowing that my work is truly making a difference.

And there was the delight of being able to nibble on a few fallen stalks, my hooves sinking in the cool earth – oh, the luxury of a quick treat as I patiently awaited my turn to take a rest under the willow tree. Those barley stalks tasted divine.

But amongst all the excitement of the summer harvest, whispers of something extraordinary began to drift through the village. There were rumours about a distant land – a place called “France” – a land beyond the mountains where men and horses had become entangled in a fierce struggle. The air was filled with hushed conversations, filled with a sense of both worry and wonder.

These stories arrived on the backs of weary travellers, merchants, and even the occasional knight, returning from journeys far beyond our familiar hills. The villagers would gather around them, eager to hear tales of places we could only imagine, about conflicts and kingdoms that were both daunting and fascinating.

It seems the French are building vast fortifications of stone, giant walls that stretch for miles, defending their land with their own loyal horses. This powerful structure is known as “Charlemagne's Wall” – and is causing a stir amongst the rulers across the continent. From what we heard, the king of France, Charlemagne, was known to ride a black stallion named Luthien, a magnificent creature renowned for its courage and loyalty. They were rumoured to be inseparable, fighting side by side with unparalleled determination.

I would listen with wide ears, imagining Luthien thundering across the French plains, feeling the wind rush through his magnificent mane, the battle cries ringing in his ears as he defended his home with incredible bravery. His name became whispered among the other horses in the village, and he almost felt like a legend - an embodiment of our equine strength and unwavering spirit.

Even though this distant land felt so very far from our Hayfield, it was a constant murmur, reminding us that beyond our valleys and hills, life was always changing, evolving, and full of possibilities, just like the unpredictable course of the Highland winds.

And it wasn’t only through tales that the world seemed to be changing. New people, with new ideas, would often visit Hayfield. During one such visit, I found myself listening to a group of travellers gather around a lively, young priest named Brother Theodore.

Now, Theodore was not your typical holy man. He carried not a heavy Bible or a prayer book but a stack of scrolls, his enthusiasm bubbling over as he explained the writings of an even earlier age – an ancient Greek man known as “Hippocrates.”

He spoke of the importance of knowledge and how by understanding the workings of our bodies, we could become healthier and more efficient. I wasn't sure what Hippocrates had to do with horses, but Theodore’s passion was infectious. He went on to explain about the vital roles of diet, rest, and how exercise could benefit us both physically and mentally. I’ll be honest, some of the things he spoke about – “balance” and “flow” – were concepts I couldn’t quite grasp, but they sparked a curiosity in my heart that has lasted to this day.

His passion made me realise that knowledge and learning were not only the domain of the human race. As an intelligent being with my own unique perspective and abilities, I too could benefit from broadening my horizons, from understanding the world around me even better.

The simple truth was, even in my day-to-day work as a farm horse, I found myself encountering things I couldn't explain. I couldn't explain why some of my friends seemed to heal faster than others, or why a particular diet brought more energy and strength. Maybe, I thought, this man's ancient teachings held secrets to understanding such mysteries. Maybe I was just beginning to unlock the true potential of what it meant to be a horse.

I made sure to follow his advice on proper nutrition and daily exercise – which certainly kept me feeling fit and strong. And every chance I got, I would eavesdrop on the villagers, absorbing their stories, their knowledge of the wider world, soaking in all I could from their varied experiences.

Looking back on those summer days, I realise what a pivotal time they were in our lives. It was a time of great physical strength and an exciting exploration of the unknown.

Life in 735 might have felt simple, even primitive by today's standards, but for me, it was a time of growth, both physically and mentally. Every day brought new challenges, new opportunities to use my unique talents and skills, to serve my community with pride, and to connect with the people and the other creatures around me.

From the heavy lifting to the harvesting of barley, from tales of distant wars to learning from an inspired teacher, these memories hold a profound beauty and a sense of connection that I carry with me every day.

But perhaps most importantly, the year 735 taught me that true growth comes not only from within, but also from our connections with the world around us – be it with fellow horses, humans, or even through stories whispered on the wind. It is in these moments of sharing, of learning from each other, that we become a community.

And for a creature as strong, as noble as the horse, this feeling of shared purpose and connectedness, this sense of belonging to a bigger world – is one of the greatest rewards of all.

So, I encourage you to embrace your connections, to be curious about the world around you, and to remember, dear Equine World, we horses are not just creatures of strength, but of intelligence and wisdom too. There’s a world out there waiting to be discovered, a world that is always changing, a world in which we play an important role. Let's keep sharing our stories and forging a path, together.

Until next time, my dear Equine World readers, stay strong, stay curious and never underestimate your own strength!

Yours sincerely,

Emma,

Hayfield, 735