My Dear Readers,
Greetings from my home in the charming village of Hayfield, nestled near the bustling town of Aberdeen. It's the year 1384, and life is, as always, a delightful tapestry woven with the threads of work, camaraderie, and the occasional touch of mischief.
For those of you who haven't met me, I'm Emma, a grey draught horse with a mane and tail as white as the finest snow. At 20 years young, I'm considered a senior amongst my stablemates, a seasoned veteran in the art of ploughing fields and hauling heavy carts.
This year has been particularly memorable, filled with whispers of grand events and a quiet contentment in the rhythm of my daily life.
The World's Stirring:
From what I gather, whispers of war are drifting in from beyond our green fields. King Richard of England and his knights have been making trouble for King Robert of Scotland, causing a stir and sparking anxieties. Though it doesn't affect us directly here in Hayfield, the murmurings of battle and the echoes of hooves drumming upon distant roads can't help but filter through.
Our own Scottish king has taken the field with a valiant force, vowing to defend our homeland. It seems a difficult time for all those involved, but we are thankful to have a peaceful home in the Scottish Highlands.
News From The Neighbours:
Closer to home, we've been abuzz with excitement about the annual Highland Games in the village of Braemar. Every year, it's a whirlwind of competition and festivities, and we're a proud part of the spectacle. The games are a vibrant display of our heritage - men testing their strength in tug-of-war and throwing cabers, the women competing in intricate needlework, and all of us enjoying the feasting, music, and dancing that weave together this rich tapestry of our culture.
This year, our very own Angus, a mighty chestnut stallion from our stable, is competing in the strongest-horse contest. I, being a veteran of countless journeys and an experienced workhorse, am confident in his ability to claim the coveted title. I just might even try my hand at winning the "Most Elegant Mane and Tail" prize - wouldn't it be a triumph for our little stable!
Days Of Ploughing And Pulling:
Away from the whirlwind of competition and festivities, my life here in Hayfield follows a simpler, but no less satisfying, rhythm. The mornings find me pulling the plough through the fields, my muscles flexing under the sun. It's a labour of love, this work, for I find great contentment in transforming the rich earth into fertile ground for our next harvest. The scent of freshly turned soil fills the air, invigorating and refreshing.
Sometimes, my days are dedicated to pulling the wagon filled with provisions for the villagers. It's a slow and steady journey along the dirt tracks, giving me ample opportunity to watch the changing seasons. It's during these journeys that I get a glimpse of life beyond the fields – the bustling marketplaces, the small children giggling and chasing each other, the busy merchants bargaining over their wares.
I love watching the farmers preparing their fields for planting. From the moment the first seed is carefully sown in the cold, fertile ground, until the bountiful harvest is gathered in the autumn, there is such a magic in the cycle of life, so dependent on our gentle hands and strong backs.
The Bonds We Share:
But more than anything, my life is about companionship. The stable is my home, a haven of warm hay and shared stories. The old mare, Bonnie, is always a comfort. We spent countless hours together watching the sun set over the hills, reminiscing about our early days, sharing quiet stories, and offering a comforting presence to our younger stablemates.
There's little young Billy, a spirited chestnut filly who, bless her heart, is always in need of a calming hand. It’s my responsibility to guide her, sharing the wisdom I’ve gathered through the years.
Each one of my stablemates plays an important part in this grand tapestry. We work together, play together, and, most importantly, care for each other. There’s an undeniable peace that comes from being surrounded by those who understand the unspoken language of hooves, the unspoken solace of a kind pat on the flank.
The Art Of Living:
As the moon rises and the stars begin to shine in the velvet night sky, I watch the villagers gather for their evening rituals. The families gather around roaring hearths, sharing stories and enjoying their hearty meals. The children huddle close to the crackling fire, listening with wide eyes as their parents recount the tales of heroic knights and noble steeds.
I often feel a strange longing during these quiet evenings. It’s not sadness or loneliness, but a yearning for a deeper understanding, a desire to bridge the gap between my world and theirs. For all the joy we bring, the love and support we provide, we are often seen as beasts of burden, nothing more.
But in those stolen moments, watching the villagers laugh and recount stories around the hearth, I see beyond the simple necessities of daily life. I see a deep connection, a shared history, a love for this beautiful world that unites us all, horses and humans, in a wondrous, unspoken language.
As I lay my head on the soft bedding, I often contemplate this bond between horses and men. Though our worlds may appear so different, there are unspoken bridges between us – a shared reverence for the land, the joy in the simple rhythm of a day's work, a silent understanding that we, the horse and the human, are partners, bound together in the grand tapestry of life.
Until Next Time,
Emma
