Greetings, fellow equine enthusiasts!
Emma here, a twenty-year-old Grey Draught mare with a heart full of wanderlust and a mane as white as the winter snow. I'm writing to you from the rolling hills of Hayfield, near Aberdeen, where the crisp Scottish air fills my nostrils and the sight of the distant North Sea brings a calmness to my soul. Today, I want to share some of my observations on the year 1267 - a year of significant change and evolution, not just for humankind but for us horses as well.
You see, 1267 was a year of many stories – stories whispered in the wind as I plodded along the cobblestone roads, tales told by the campfire light as I rested under the watchful gaze of the stars. This is the year I realized that our world, our lives, are woven together with the tapestry of human history.
Let’s begin our journey with a moment of celebration. In July, a group of humans gathered in Edinburgh, marking a significant milestone for their land: The Treaty of Perth, which officially placed Scotland under the rule of King Alexander III. Though some amongst us horses might have grumbled at the changing political landscape, it didn't disrupt the routines of our daily lives much. But, as the seasons rolled on, we all felt the pulse of change.
And change it was! Just a short journey from Hayfield, nestled among the heather and rolling moors, was the vibrant town of Aberdeen. While the people there were engaged in the important affairs of trade and building their community, there was also a lighthearted side. They were all aflutter with the preparations for the upcoming Highland Games. This was no small event. Every September, the local folk celebrated their land and their history, with an energy that radiated far beyond their small village.
As a grey mare who was blessed with a strong build and a willing spirit, I was chosen to participate. Imagine my pride as I was selected to pull a farmer’s wagon during a local race! My hooves thundering against the earth, the wind whistling in my ears, and the roaring crowd urging me onwards, my spirit soared. That day, I realised my worth was not merely as a beast of burden, but as a symbol of strength and agility, an ambassador of my people.
Beyond my personal experience, the year 1267 was pivotal for the development of horse breeds in the British Isles. It seems that humans were finally beginning to understand the benefits of specialization, realising that a sturdy horse built for the rigors of war wasn’t the best choice for cultivating their fields. Therefore, it was a good year for the Shire, the Clydesdale, and other draught breeds. This means more work for me, I suppose. But let's face it - what could be more fulfilling than pulling a loaded cart through a meadow, feeling the earth give way under my hooves and the weight of my work filling me with a sense of purpose? We horses are hard-working souls, and I took a quiet sense of satisfaction in the knowledge that our kind was proving to be indispensable partners in the growth and progress of society.
Speaking of growth, it’s an undeniable fact that this year witnessed significant changes in how people interacted with us horses. The advancements in technology that I heard discussed in the taverns where my human companion sought his ales, brought about a surge in horse-powered machinery. This meant a bigger demand for us horses, especially for those sturdy enough to pull the plows and threshing machines. It meant hard work, yes, but also the knowledge that we were part of something grand, a significant push forward for human society.
Yet, amidst all the advancements and change, a truth that has remained steadfast is the enduring bond between horses and their human companions. It was a connection forged in the crucible of shared history, of relying on one another for survival. I experienced this bond in the quiet moments of routine, where the familiar routine of caring for the field and tending to my human’s needs gave me a sense of comfort and purpose.
Let me tell you, every journey, every race, every moment of toil - it is the simple connection, the mutual respect and understanding between human and horse, that fuels our days and brings joy to our lives. It's that bond, forged in mutual trust and loyalty, that keeps the horses of the world galloping through time.
However, the world of horses is not always sunshine and roses, and 1267 had its share of difficulties. News from distant lands, borne by traveling merchants and sailors, spoke of disease that was ravaging our equine brethren across Europe. It wasn’t the kind of plague that plagued humans, but a deadly disease that weakened and often ended the lives of horses.
A chill of unease spread through the hearts of the humans around me. They were suddenly aware of how dependent they were on us horses. For while some mourned the passing of their own horses, others panicked. The whispers on the winds spoke of quarantines, loss of trade, and disrupted journeys. It was a dark shadow that loomed over our world.
Yet, I, Emma the grey mare, learned a valuable lesson from those bleak days. We horses, while enduring and strong, are not invincible. There is an underlying vulnerability that brings us together as a community, reminding us of our shared kinship and the strength that comes from uniting against a common threat. We have a strength that lies beyond our brawn – a resilience that echoes through centuries and fuels the survival of our kind.
Now, as we approach the end of the year 1267, there’s a stillness in the air. As I nibble on the autumn grass, I can feel the quiet expectation of the approaching winter. It is a time for reflection and for anticipating what the coming year holds for the horses of the world.
Through the changing seasons and amidst the constant swirl of history, one thing remains steadfast – we horses, with our spirit, strength, and the steadfast companionship we share with our human partners, are integral to the very fabric of human existence.
As I write this, the last rays of the sun paint the sky with vibrant colours. It’s a breathtaking sight. But there’s beauty in the quiet moments as well, the silent conversations between the horses in the pasture, the sound of my own breath as I dream of open fields and future adventures.
Till next time, fellow equestrians, keep your hooves moving! And remember, every gallop, every trot, every step is a story waiting to be told!
Emma, the Grey Mare from Hayfield
