Hello, fellow equines and horse lovers! Emma here, a grey mare from Hayfield, nestled in the foothills near Aberdeen. The year is 1407, and the spring air is crisp and sharp, carrying the scent of heather and new-mown hay. I thought I’d share some of my observations from this fascinating year with you.
You see, as a draught horse, life for me is largely centered around the fields, the farms, and the work that keeps this village alive. My days are filled with pulling the plough, transporting heavy loads, and, sometimes, the joyful luxury of carrying a child for a ride on my strong back.
The past year has seen much change in Hayfield, mostly due to the influx of visiting nobles from across the Scottish Highlands. The King, he’s a mighty man, powerful as an ox, and with a passion for all things equine. He has made it his mission to establish a royal stud in nearby Stirling.
Imagine the excitement! We had dozens of sturdy and handsome horses from across the Highlands brought into the village for their journey south. Such an array of breeds, from the sturdy Clydesdales like myself to the nimble Shetlands. All in their prime, with glossy coats and bright eyes. Some were gentle, calm as a summer’s breeze, others fiery and impatient, eager for a gallop. All had one thing in common, however: they carried themselves with a pride that brought a glint to my own eye.
This noble undertaking hasn’t come without challenges, you see. There are tales coming from further south, murmurs of unrest. The King's brother, alas, is a troubled soul, filled with envy and a desire for the throne. These worries are always present in our human world, much like the whispers of wind rustling through the heather.
Yet, life goes on, even when shadowed by uncertainty. Here in Hayfield, spring has blossomed into summer. I’ve witnessed the fields transform, from a tapestry of vibrant greens to an ocean of gold as barley and oats mature under the summer sun.
The work, too, has changed. Less time ploughing, thankfully, as the land has yielded a generous crop. More time spent pulling heavy carts, carrying the harvest from the fields to the barns and mills.
There are exciting days for a horse like me, filled with activity and purpose. But the best days, believe me, are the quiet ones. When the evening sun casts a warm glow upon the fields and I’m left grazing with my stablemates, content with the world.
And on these peaceful evenings, I find myself contemplating the larger world, the whispers that travel with the winds and the tales the merchants carry. The world is vast, with kingdoms stretching far beyond the rolling hills that surround our village.
From what I gather, a man named Columbus, hailing from Italy, is planning a grand voyage, seeking to sail across the Atlantic Ocean. His intention, they say, is to find a faster and safer route to the far east. A seafaring horse, I mused, must be a creature of boundless strength and spirit.
My friend, Angus, a wise and ancient Shire horse, with a coat like the night sky and eyes filled with centuries of wisdom, tells me tales of jousting tournaments. It seems that these gatherings of nobles and knights, mounted upon their steeds, involve mock battles. Imagine, two powerful steeds clashing in a display of speed and strength, a symphony of hoofbeats echoing across the field!
Angus says they call it the “sport of kings,” this ritualistic combat. It’s quite something, apparently, with ornate armour adorning the horses, as if they too are warriors in the fray. He’s been lucky enough to witness a tournament, his ears pricked with wonder at the spectacle.
Now, I myself have never participated in such grand events, but I have experienced a milder form of rivalry. It is an unspoken competition, a silent understanding between horses. You see, when the farmhands choose a horse to pull the plough, the farmer's wagon, or to carry a load, the pressure is on. Each of us wants to prove ourselves, to show we are strong enough for the task. This inner desire to excel, this innate competition, is something all horses, be they strong draught horses or sleek racers, can relate to, I’m sure.
Speaking of races, my friend, Elspeth, is a spirited Highland mare. She yearns to break free from the confines of Hayfield and experience the thrill of the racetrack. There, she claims, a horse can unleash its full potential, running as the wind itself, with a blur of movement and the exhilarating sense of freedom. While I wouldn’t trade my strong build for all the racetracks in the world, I admire her courage, her zest for the wild side of life.
She says races are held in England, especially at Newmarket, a place renowned for its horses, much like Aberdeen is known for its cattle. Newmarket is apparently a grand, bustling town filled with wealthy nobles, and all manner of people fascinated by the art of horsemanship.
There’s an exciting new breed of horses, she told me, the thoroughbreds. Elegant and swift, these steeds, bred for speed, are apparently coveted across the land. A single thoroughbred can command vast sums of money, sometimes more than the cost of a nobleman’s entire manor!
Her tales about these horses fill me with a sense of longing, but also respect. These creatures seem to carry themselves with a certain nobility, their bloodlines imbued with a history as rich and captivating as any human saga.
The world, it seems, is a vibrant and multifaceted place. Horses play a part in almost every facet of life, from working the land to entertaining the nobility, from travelling the vast highways to participating in ritualised battles. I may be a grey draught mare, content in my rural existence, but the stories I hear ignite a spark in me, a sense of shared adventure, of connection with every equine soul, regardless of breed or life’s circumstances.
I've learned to appreciate the simple things in life: the sun warming my coat, the sweet scent of hay in the barn, the companionship of my fellow horses. And though I may never venture beyond the fields of Hayfield, my heart travels far and wide, carried on the wings of stories and imagination, always in tune with the pulse of the equine world.
Stay tuned for my next post, dear readers. I have a feeling the world has many more wonders yet to be shared. Until then, keep your hooves on the ground and your spirits high!
