Neigh-sayers might think 1250 is a dull year for a horse, but I say nay! Sure, I'm a draught horse, no dashing knight charging across the fields on me, but trust me, things were far from quiet in my little corner of Hayfield, near Aberdeen.
The morning dew glistened like diamonds on the barley fields, a perfect setting for my latest Equiworld blog post. It's a balmy June day and I've already finished my chores for the day - a few sturdy wagon pulls, a quick run for supplies, and then a satisfying snooze in my hay-filled stall.
But let's rewind the clock a little, back to the start of 1250, and journey through a year in my hooves.
January: A Cold Start
The icy grip of winter had descended upon Hayfield, with the snow piling up so high, it felt like my hooves were walking on fluffy pillows. Life was a bit more sedentary for a strong grey horse like me. We, the sturdy Clydesdales, were relegated to hauling hay for our families, pulling sleds with wood, and assisting with any outdoor tasks that could be squeezed into the limited daylight hours.
But just because the ground was frozen, it didn't mean we stopped exploring. It was this month, with a gentle coating of fresh powder, that I discovered my passion for galloping across the snow. With a flick of my mane and a swift kick of my hind legs, I felt like a majestic white cloud, my spirit soaring as high as the frost-kissed peaks that towered around Hayfield.
February: The Spirit of Spring
February saw the first hints of spring, with the promise of warmth thawing the snow. The sun, ever so gently, began to make itself known, reminding me of the longer, brighter days to come.
This month also marked a turning point in the village of Hayfield. A local lord had commissioned a new wagon, an absolute beauty with a glossy coat of paint, sturdy wheels, and elegant carvings of oak leaves around the sides. Imagine my delight! I was selected as the first steed to grace it, hauling it down the dusty road with the weight of prestige on my broad shoulders.
It felt as if the entire village had their eyes upon me. Each hoofbeat seemed to echo with the hopes of a growing, thriving community. My fellow draught horses watched with envy as I strutted my stuff. They whispered compliments to me - “Look at that stride, Emma, so elegant!”
March: The Joy of Fields
The arrival of March signaled the thaw, the ground becoming softer with every passing day. My fellow horses and I were soon put to work in the fields. It was back-breaking, yes, but invigorating work.
Imagine the rhythmic clicking of hooves against earth, the sweet scent of freshly turned soil in the air. The earth is a living creature, we all understood that. With each furrow, each planted seed, we played our part in the grand cycle of life.
I especially enjoyed working with the farmers. They were good folk, hearty and kind. They talked to us, treated us as fellow workers, sharing their stories and their anxieties about the harvest. There were a lot of worried sighs about the coming summer and potential crop failures. But every time they would pet my white mane and say, "Good girl, Emma, we'll get through it." That gave me courage.
April: Horses and the Holy
Spring turned into summer, the weather changing faster than I could switch my tail back and forth. I loved this time of year. My coat gleamed, my mane seemed even more magnificent. The world around me blossomed and I felt an invigorating joy.
As the world became greener and brighter, our work shifted too. April saw the village preparing for a Holy festival, with every soul contributing something to the celebration. You wouldn't believe the number of carts and wagons that rumbled through the village on my back! I hauled everything, from ingredients for the communal feasts, to supplies for the many stalls set up around the village green.
As we hauled the goods, I noticed something special. There were people of every age, all races, walking alongside us. I even overheard conversations - from simple farmers to high-born nobles, everyone was united in the spirit of celebrating this religious festival.
May: A Family Affair
Spring bloomed into a lively May, and along with it, a whole host of festivities! It was the time of the Highland Gathering, and Hayfield was abuzz. From dawn until dusk, it was a cacophony of laughter, music, and celebrations. And me, of course! What better way to travel around the village, joining in the excitement than a trusty draught horse pulling a covered wagon filled with joyful passengers?
This month was also a month of celebration in my own little herd. My foals - yes, I am a mother! - were growing strong. Seeing my two little ones frolicking in the meadows, playful and curious, was one of the most beautiful things I could have witnessed.
They’ve started training with me too. Pulling small carts loaded with hay, practicing pulling side by side, all in preparation for when they are big enough to truly join me in hauling bigger loads. I am immensely proud.
June: A Bit of A Bother
My favorite time of the year, the glorious summer month of June. Yet this month brought some news that put a dent in our joy. I couldn't help feeling sad. My fellow horses - particularly the young colts - weren't looking as healthy as usual.
I heard whispers among the villagers - "the plague", they murmured. The deadly "Black Death", which we were told came from the east. It was making its way slowly westward, even though it was quite some way off, there was an air of anxiety in the air. The local priest even mentioned it during the Sunday sermon.
Even though we horses are tough and generally resilient creatures, my instinct told me that something bad was brewing, something dark. The whispers became more insistent. It became a stark reminder that despite the joys of a bustling village and our hard work in the fields, the outside world could bring unexpected and frightening changes.
July: A Shadow Falls
July brought its scorching summer heat, a cruel, unforgiving sun baking the land. It was difficult to move about and there was an uneasy hush over the land, not the carefree chatter and happy whinnies of a few months ago.
As the plague spread its ghastly tendrils closer, fear gnawed at the villagers. Their voices became strained and whispers of isolation and sickness filled the air. It was no longer the joyous songs of revelry, but whispers of worry, as the dread of this invisible foe weighed heavy on their hearts. We, the horses, felt it too, the silence that replaced laughter, the anxiety in every breath.
One thing remained constant - our work. We kept busy hauling goods, plowing fields, and helping maintain the routine of life. Perhaps the villagers drew comfort from this familiar order, a reminder that even with the plague around, life still went on.
August: A Silent Time
August, a usually cheerful month, now echoed with the shadows of grief and fear. It felt like a somber blanket had been draped over Hayfield. I've seen illness and sickness among our equine community before, but nothing like this. The death toll climbed, not just among humans, but amongst my fellow horses as well.
This cruel disease didn’t discriminate. It took strong horses and weak ones, young foals and aged stallions, without mercy.
I remembered watching my fellow horses, each cough and sneeze bringing fear and heartbreak. A strong draught horse in the next stable had been ill, then succumbed within days. It was a horrifying loss. The young foals lost their mother to this dreaded disease, leaving behind only emptiness and quietness. It was heart-breaking. I, a mother myself, couldn’t imagine the agony.
This silent plague reminded me of the fragility of life. The once bustling village was now draped in sadness and quiet. Even the fields seemed to hold their breath.
September: A Chance for Healing
With the chill in the air, September brought the familiar rhythm of harvest. I hauled the bounty of the earth, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility. I was, after all, a strong horse, capable of much, even in the face of hardship.
But there was still fear. Many humans lay sick, and their fear permeated every interaction. Still, the work continued. We kept busy, and the cycle of life in Hayfield, as precarious as it may be, went on. We toiled, hauling grain to the mills, preparing for the coming winter, keeping our bodies and spirits strong.
October: Hopeful Glimmers
The cold October air carried with it the scent of woodsmoke. By the time we arrived at October, the pace of deaths seemed to slow down, but fear remained. We weren't quite sure if we'd dodged the bullet entirely or just caught a short respite. It felt like the worst of the storm was behind us, but I felt the anxieties of the village in the silence between my hoofbeats.
It was the time for new births and preparations for the winter, a time of resilience. There was a collective determination to find a new normalcy. The fields had been worked, the harvests brought in.
My little foals were beginning to pull small carts, showing much promise. I even saw the little foals, with a few of their mates, frolicking in the meadows, chasing butterflies and learning to graze. Life, after a long struggle, began to tentatively reclaim the ground it had lost.
November: A Time for Reflection
Winter had fully descended on Hayfield by November. I relished the warm comfort of the stable, relishing the aroma of freshly gathered hay and the warmth of companionship. I spent these dark days resting, nurturing my strength and reflecting on the events of the past year.
1250 had been a year of trials and tribulations, but also of courage and resilience. Even when fear seemed to hold a tight grip on the village, hope had found a way to sneak through the cracks. We'd lost so many, it was heartbreaking. We'd even lost some of our own horse family, yet we stood strong and supported each other.
November was a time for a different kind of work. It meant hauling supplies, strengthening the roofs of houses, helping the villagers gather wood for fires to survive the coming winter. There was a different kind of purpose to it, a quieter determination. We carried on, a collective effort.
December: A Merry End to a Tumultuous Year
December arrived, and despite everything, a quiet celebration permeated the air. The holidays - Yuletide - were upon us.
With the familiar chill in the air, we knew that the festivities would bring joy and camaraderie. A Christmas Eve party, where a crackling fire lit the faces of all who gathered, and I, as I have done for many years, helped pull the decorated carriage for the annual procession through the village. I even pulled the carriage with a group of young men who played music - a small concert celebrating the holiday.
The whole experience was as if the ghosts of the year’s trials had vanished. For a moment, the heavy clouds parted, the villagers sang together, and I could sense a flicker of renewed hope.
And now, here I am, writing in my blog. The village of Hayfield is far from untouched by what the plague took. We are rebuilding and remembering.
The sun dips behind the barley fields as I sign off for today. The world of horses is full of stories. I'll be back, my friends, with my tale for 1251. And as I write this, I look to the bright sky, filled with stars, and can’t help but hope that next year will be a year of healing, for both humans and horses, across the entire world. And for my lovely little foals.
Until then, neigh and be happy,
Emma.
