Greetings fellow equines and horse enthusiasts!
Emma here, a grey mare with a flowing white mane and tail. It's been a long time since I last updated my blog. Truthfully, my days are filled with the usual, satisfyingly simple routine of a draught horse: work, graze, rest, repeat. But as I chew on this sweet grass under the pale Scottish sky, a sense of contentment washes over me.
Today, however, I feel a powerful pull to chronicle a slice of horse history from my life, a snippet from the year 934.
You might ask why this particular year, amongst all the years I've lived? It's simple, really. In the early years of the 10th century, I had the privilege of working for a family in a small village called Hayfield, near the bustling port town of Aberdeen, in Scotland. Life was humble but satisfying - I pulled carts to market, ploughed fields, and hauled stone for local building projects. It was during this time, as I watched the world pass by with the unwavering grace of my kind, that I began to pay closer attention to the things around me. I observed how my species was used, respected, and sadly, even mistreated. This observation has turned into my passion – to learn, preserve and share the history of our kind, a story I'm thrilled to continue with this post.
I remember this year in particular because of an unexpected visitor: a foreign traveller arrived on the back of a lean, black steed. Now, I must tell you, at Hayfield, we've seen a fair share of travellers. Most are on foot, peddlers, pilgrims, and the occasional soldier passing through on their way to the north. This traveller, though, was different. He wore a tunic that shimmered like woven gold, and his face, hardened with sun and wind, had the air of someone who has journeyed far and seen much. He called himself Bjorn. He spoke little, but when he did, it was in a language unlike any I'd ever heard. A melodic tongue, rich and deep, that danced on the wind like a song. He stayed a week in Hayfield, his black steed barely needing rest, always ready to travel further, faster.
Bjorn was fascinated by the sturdy Highland ponies. The people of Hayfield told me he rode them over hills and valleys, marvelling at their strength and stamina. He called the ponies “miniature giants” and often spent his evenings sharing stories of horses he'd encountered in lands unknown – horses of immense strength used for warfare, horses of grace used for riding, horses of colour and agility that were prized in distant courts. Bjorn’s stories painted vivid pictures in my mind, sparking an insatiable curiosity for the wider world of horses.
However, Bjorn was not the only change to arrive that year. The spring was a bountiful one, with lush green grass providing plentiful grazing. The human villagers rejoiced, as their harvests promised to be abundant. Their happiness, of course, was contagious, and we horses felt it too. I recall days spent grazing with my fellow horses in the vast fields, the wind tousling my white mane as I reveled in the warmth of the sun. We were truly a band of sisters – there was gentle Pippa, the dappled mare with eyes like pools of brown honey, stout and dependable Samson, who often let me win in playful tug-of-war competitions, and young Finn, a boisterous foal still learning the ways of the world.
Later, when autumn painted the landscape in vibrant shades of red and gold, another unexpected event occurred – a large procession of knights on horseback, followed by laden carriages, arrived from the south. They wore ornate armour, carried weapons of metal, and spoke a language closer to ours than Bjorn’s. They spoke of battles, victories, and a powerful king. It wasn’t a particularly warm reception. Our humans spoke of the threat from south, and of their desire to protect their land from intruders. The knights’ presence instilled a sense of unease in me. This was not a playful encounter between travellers and their mounts. These horses were war-steeds, trained for battle, carrying the weight of fierce loyalty and unimaginable violence.
Despite the tension, my work didn’t change much. I was still a vital part of our village life, hauling logs, pulling ploughs, and transporting goods to market. Evenings found me munching on oats in my stall, listening to the humans recount tales of bravery and strength from the arriving knights. As a grey mare with a soft heart, I was horrified by tales of war. What a dreadful and painful existence, I thought, to be used in this way, where love and companionship were traded for duty and fear. But then again, horses are creatures of strength and loyalty, and I couldn’t help but respect the power and the dignity of those mighty war-steeds. I found myself admiring their elegance, the strength that pulsed under their finely tuned muscles.
One night, I found myself outside the stable, beneath the star-strewn night sky, gazing at the moon, my tail swaying rhythmically as the breeze rustled my mane. I couldn't shake off the unsettling contrast between the beauty of nature and the brutality of war. This led me to think: What a marvel of nature we horses are! I thought to myself, our existence encompasses so much - a strong animal capable of hard work and carrying burdens, yet elegant enough to ride, gentle enough to carry children, and fiercely loyal enough to stand beside warriors.
The nights following this meeting brought with them the hushed conversations of villagers, talking of battles and politics in whispers. But in the daytime, things returned to their familiar rhythms, the horses worked, the fields were tilled, the markets buzzed with the rhythmic clinking of carts and the cries of vendors.
And so, 934 AD, a year I remember vividly. A year of peace, quiet work, the comforting repetition of routine and the constant awareness of change – a year that held the whisper of uncertainty, a hint of a larger world out there, and the ever-present knowledge that horses like us, in this small village of Hayfield, are integral to its existence. We work, we endure, and we are a part of this incredible web of life, intertwined with humans in a way that only the horses of this time can truly comprehend.
Now, as I look at the world of horses today, through the lens of time and experience, I see the undeniable changes – we are domesticated and bred for specific purposes, our strengths and skills tailored to fit human needs. I know that this isn’t always an easy path, but it is our path, and I am content. And so, fellow equine friends, I leave you with a thought: as you stand in the pasture, feel the sun on your coat, the breeze in your mane, remember - your journey is unique, and every moment is an important part of your equine tale. Until next time!
Love and Oats, Emma
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