Greetings from Hayfield, near Aberdeen! Emma here, your resident grey draught mare, and welcome to another chapter in my Equine Chronicles. It’s August of 1459, and the heather's blooming in a fiery purple that matches the fiery sunset above our meadow.
As I stand in the pasture with my fellow mares and foals, a sigh of satisfaction washes over me. The oats I devoured at noon have settled happily in my stomach. My filly foal, Daisy, nuzzles her soft nose into my flank, and I nuzzle back, feeling a wave of proud motherhood sweep over me.
Today, I think about our history – a long, intricate story etched into the very bones of the earth and woven into the very fabric of human lives. Horses – the majestic, strong, and often silent creatures that carry, pull, and nourish us. They are the wind in our mane, the rumble in our hooves, and the pulse in our hearts.
The World Turns, We Turn With It
A year has passed since I first penned these thoughts. 1458 feels like a whisper now. It was the year the plague crept across England, leaving its mark of death and sorrow. Even in Scotland, whispers of its presence drifted on the wind. And then, there was the great earthquake in Lisbon.
Even though I was far from these upheavals, the echo of these events reached Hayfield. It came in the whispers of the travellers, the anxious murmurings of our human companions, and in the nervous shift of our collective energy. Yet, as always, life went on. Foals were born, fields were harvested, and the horses in Hayfield, in the grand tapestry of life, continued their own quiet revolutions.
This year, 1459, feels quieter, more introspective. Our King, James III, is only eight years old. He's ruled Scotland with the wise hand of his guardians, while he himself plays with knights and wooden swords in Edinburgh castle.
Here, in Hayfield, our tasks remain largely the same. We till the soil for barley and rye, hauling wagons heavy with wheat for baking bread. Our stallions help in the hunt, the gentle click of their hooves on frozen ground a song that has reverberated through history. We are the bedrock of life – essential, unyielding, and vital.
A Tale of Two Stallions
Our resident stallion, Blackburn, is a majestic dark horse. He stands, like a guardian of ancient traditions, watchful and ever-present. He’s gentle with the mares and foals, a reassuring presence with a velvet touch, especially for my Daisy. She adores his calm and unwavering nature, a calming presence in her world. I worry for her, for she still carries her young legs with a certain lightness. But, as long as she has Blackburn’s care, she’ll learn her strength, and we’ll all be well.
Our other stallion, the young Blaze, is a different story. He's a storm of fire and energy, always pawing the ground, his chestnut coat glowing under the sun. He yearns for freedom, for open fields, for a challenge he can tackle with his youthful strength. I sense a yearning in him, an almost-invisible thread connecting him to wild, free horses that roam in the far-off, untamed hills.
His eyes are full of the fire of rebellion, and the desire for something grander, something greater than the dull, yet dependable routine of our lives. I hope he finds that. I hope, even more, that he finds wisdom to use that fire not to rebel, but to build something greater, something lasting.
Weaving Our Threads in History
Even though it is August, the air carries a hint of chill, as though a promise of autumn’s crisp beauty has already arrived.
But the gentle murmur of our everyday life, the rhythm of hooves on grass, the scent of wood smoke from our homes, all of this brings me back to our lives, the small lives that weave a vast tapestry. It is this tapestry I wish to preserve, these memories of our horses, the magnificent beasts that are a part of our world.
On my recent journey to Aberdeen, I rode with the market-goers. We are not the noble, fast horses ridden by knights. We are draught horses – the sturdy backbone of life in the Highlands. We carry the burdens, and in the silence of our labor, we whisper tales that reside within the fabric of Scotland’s history.
This was the year a new type of saddle, with a more balanced seat, was invented in Germany. This could help our human companions, making their rides safer and smoother. It could even influence how we work in the field! Such inventions fill me with pride, for we are ever changing and evolving.
And I saw the first mention of the “running horses,” they say these are animals bred to race against each other, across long distances, for sport. I find this peculiar! What a waste of speed, I thought.
We, the draught horses, are a breed known for steadiness, resilience, and dependability. We work with the earth, carry heavy loads, and play our role in a world larger than ourselves. We are the gentle hands that shape the world.
The Story Continues
There is a warmth in my heart, as I look at Daisy, her foal-hood eyes filled with curious energy and love for her mother. Her world is vast, and yet bound by my strength and Blackburn's calm. I will share what I’ve learnt about life, and the magic of this life, the life of horses, with her. And that is the beauty of it all, this cycle of learning and legacy that binds each of us in this story. We are part of a tapestry, a living story, told in the language of hooves and heartbeats, of grass and sun. I am Emma, the grey mare, and I will share our history with the world.
Please come visit me again. I'm sharing more of my stories on the wonderful www.equiworld.org website. There’s much to be explored, and many voices to hear. Until next time, gentle readers.
**This post has been dedicated to the magnificent horses of Scotland, and the unsung heroes, the humble draughters who worked so hard to help build a nation. They deserve to have their stories told! * - Emma
*Please feel free to leave your thoughts and comments below. And do tell me about the horses that touch your lives!
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