Hello, dear fellow equines and those who love us! It's Emma here, your resident grey draught horse with a passion for history. I live in the beautiful countryside near Aberdeen, a place we call Hayfield. The wind whistles across the hills, and the smell of peat smoke hangs in the air, reminding us of the hard work we do and the lives we lead.
Today, I'm taking you back to 1042, a year full of twists and turns in the world of horses, but most importantly, a year I was a foal, just learning the ways of the world.
A Life in Hayfield
Born under the watchful gaze of the Scottish highlands, 1042 was a year of growth and discovery. My mother, a strong chestnut mare with a mane like spun copper, taught me the first lessons: how to nurse, how to stand, how to walk, and how to explore the wide green fields surrounding our small homestead.
Our lives were simple. We grazed on lush meadows, shared the warmth of the stable with our kin, and occasionally got a sweet treat of hay. The humans, strong and kind, knew every horse by name and cared for us with gentleness. We knew we were integral to their lives - the foundation for their strength, their food, their trade.
Working for a Living
I vividly remember the first time I pulled a plow. The man, his name was Angus, was a giant of a man with kind eyes. He guided my young strength, showing me how to push through the soil, turn, and repeat the arduous but important work. Our lives, even as foals, revolved around work. It wasn't simply about pulling plows or wagons; it was about building communities, cultivating life-sustaining crops, and forging a bond of shared purpose with the humans who relied on us.
Life beyond the Hayfield
Though my life centred around Hayfield, stories of other horses came on the wind. Tales of mighty steeds on battlefields in England, their coats soaked in blood, echoed through the whispers of the breeze. The men would recount their stories of valour and might, their bravery in battle, painting pictures of galloping across the terrain, carrying the weight of nations on their strong backs.
While the life of a battle horse was far from mine, I admired their strength and courage. Even as a foal, I sensed that our breed, the Clydesdales, were designed not just for farmwork, but for much more.
The Year of King Canute
1042, you see, was a significant year for humans. It was the year King Canute, known for his wisdom and might, passed away. The air was filled with a tangible sense of change as we, the horses, watched our human companions grapple with the loss of their leader. It was a year of mourning but also a time for a new beginning, for new leadership to take the reins.
From One Horse to Another
In that year, I learned the language of the horse, the silent communion through flicking ears, a nod of the head, the rumble of a belly, a friendly snort, a playful nudge.
From the older stallions, I learned about the importance of family and loyalty. From the mare with a gentle heart, I learned the value of nurturing and care. And from the younger horses, my playmates, I discovered the joys of friendship, the sheer bliss of running with the wind in my mane, the exhilaration of leaping and frolicking under the open sky.
A Year of Learning and Growth
As I grew, I understood that my life was a constant interplay of learning and growing. I was no longer just a foal, I was developing into a young adult, one who was respected and responsible. My size was my strength, my sturdy body was my asset.
Though I was just a small piece in the tapestry of history, my world, my life, mirrored the world of the humans I served. And I am forever grateful to be a part of it. We, the horses of Hayfield, were the bedrock of our lives. We lived for each other, we worked for each other, and we shared the tapestry of history together, one neigh, one kick, and one hoof-beat at a time.
Until next time, stay curious and be good to your fellow equines!
Emma, Grey Draught Horse
Hayfield, Scotland
