Hello fellow equine friends, welcome to my little corner of the internet where I, Emma, share my thoughts and musings on the world of horses - from the past to the present. Today I'm stepping back in time to 1157 AD. That was a time of knights and castles and grand estates. Well, not for a humble farm girl like myself, but exciting nonetheless.
I must start by saying that, back in 1157, my life in Hayfield, near Aberdeen in Scotland, wasn’t a whole lot different to what it would be centuries later. Sure, the knights in shining armour were a novelty, but the work was always the same - ploughing, harvesting, carrying heavy loads.
This year saw the reign of King Malcolm IV of Scotland. He was a gentle soul who loved horses, so rumour has it, and he would often go on horseback hunting expeditions. I haven't met him personally, though I've heard many stories from the passing travellers and the young stable boys. But just as there's a rumour about King Malcolm and his love for horses, there's also talk of this big tournament being held in a nearby village. I'm sure there's been a lot of talk about it, but you know how it is - the humans love their gossip, don’t you think?
Of course, the heart of all this activity was the horse. The knights of the era, they favoured the powerful warhorse, often with sleek black coats, but with more fire and muscle than us gentle farm folk. They’d charge across the fields in tournaments and battles, much to the amazement of everyone watching. I wonder if it’s as exhilarating as I’ve heard? They have the advantage, you see, being the stars of the show, the focus of the humans’ excitement. Us farm horses are much more mundane, we’re all about practicality and efficiency. We get the job done, we deliver the food, we pull the plows - it’s our daily grind.
But don’t get me wrong, I love my work, my routine. It's comforting to know my place, to know I am valuable to the people who depend on me. Even on days when the fields are muddy and my legs ache from ploughing all day, I feel a sense of pride. I help keep our family fed, and that's more rewarding than any tournament. It’s a quiet satisfaction, one that comes with fulfilling my purpose.
Speaking of fulfilling purpose, I must tell you about this beautiful mare, Luna, a white Andalusian with a thick, glossy coat and flowing mane, who lives on the neighboring farm. She is owned by a traveling bard, a man who weaves stories through song. I once saw Luna pulling his wagon, adorned with ribbons and tassels, through our village square. All the children were fascinated by the horse, captivated by the flowing white mane and tail and the rhythmic clip-clop of her hooves on the cobblestones.
Luna seems to be destined for grander things than simple farm work. And while her life might appear glamorous to me, who knows what hidden sorrows it might hold? But then again, the human life, as they tell it, is also a strange and perplexing one. Even with the luxury of fine silks and fancy feasts, there's always something missing. As for me, my life is a simple one, filled with routine and the simple pleasures of a good grazing patch, a warm stall at night, and the love of the people who tend to me. And if the human gossipers have told it right, I even get a juicy apple from the farmer's wife at the end of a hard day.
It's hard to think what this year will bring, to imagine the stories of this time will ever be known to anyone outside of our village. But what matters is that our horses continue to be respected, appreciated, and loved for the essential work we do, and the vital role we play in our little community.
Until next time, keep those hooves kicking, and those tails swishing!
Yours, Emma.
P.S. You know, now that I’ve thought about it, perhaps Luna’s life, the life of the grand lady horse of a traveling bard, wouldn’t be so bad after all! It certainly has its appeal. But then again, that luxurious white mane would get a little too muddy in the Hayfield fields!
