Hello, dear readers! Emma here, a grey draught mare with a mane and tail the colour of freshly fallen snow. I live in a small, peaceful village called Hayfield near Aberdeen in bonnie Scotland, and let me tell you, it's been a busy year in 1466! My hooves haven't stopped a moment.
The Year of the Plough
We're a close-knit community here, and life for a draught horse in Hayfield revolves around the rhythms of the land. Springtime always brings a wave of excitement, as we're ready to put our strong backs to the plough and till the fields. The earth, freshly thawed and ready to be worked, seems to sing a song of hope, and my fellow draught horses and I respond with enthusiastic snorts and eager whinnies.
I, for one, enjoy a good day's work in the fields. The sun on my coat, the breeze on my mane, and the satisfying rhythm of turning the soil – it's quite a joyful thing, especially when you're surrounded by good companions. Of course, the farmer doesn't make things too easy for us. A full day of ploughing takes a lot of strength, and sometimes we grumble, especially when the ground is hard and stubborn. But we all pull together, for a hearty oatcake after a long day in the fields always tastes delicious.
Festivals and Festivities
While the spring and summer are filled with hard work, the harvest brings a time for celebrations. Throughout Hayfield and the nearby villages, the fields are golden with grain, ready for reaping. As the harvest progresses, there's a happy energy in the air, punctuated by the cheerful tunes of pipers and the clinking of tankards filled with warm ale.
Every year, on the eve of the feast day of Saint Bartholomew, the patron saint of our village, we have the most grand fair! The smell of wood smoke, the hum of chatter, the calls of vendors, the laughter of children, the excitement of seeing horses and riders of all kinds – the entire village erupts with joyful activity. There are jugglers, entertainers, dancing, feasting, and competitions, and the sounds and sights seem to tumble over each other like a waterfall.
For a horse like me, it's a rare treat! There are beautiful saddles and bridles for sale, not to mention the magnificent blankets of different colours and textures – even though I spend most of my time working, I adore being decked out in fine clothing! And who doesn't love a treat of sweet oats from the hands of the children, who look at us with wide-eyed wonder?
Across the Border
This year, something special happened during the St. Bartholomew’s fair – a rumour began to swirl, one that swept through Hayfield and beyond, rippling across the entire region like the waves of the North Sea. A grand tournament was to be held across the border in England, hosted by the King himself! The King’s invitation extended to all skilled horsemen and women, a gathering of the best of the best.
My heart leapt with excitement at the thought of such an event. A chance to compete, to show my skills! A rare opportunity for us working horses, even if it was beyond our borders. Of course, only the best horses were selected, horses known for their strength, speed, and skill.
As it turned out, our very own stablehand’s son, Robert, was invited with his mare, Guinevere. She was a marvel – sleek and swift, a bay mare with a flame-red mane and tail, renowned for her skill in leaping and turning. They departed for the tournament, promising to tell us all about their adventures upon their return.
Word from Across the Borders
We spent weeks anticipating Robert’s and Guinevere's return, our ears perked, our heads swiveling, waiting for the familiar sound of their hooves. Finally, they returned, dusty and weary from the long journey, but their eyes shining with the thrill of their experience.
They told stories of majestic castles and bustling cities, of valiant knights and their shining armour, of the grand event, a display of horsemanship and skill like no other. Robert recounted how Guinevere shone, showcasing her talents in jumping and turning, earning cheers and praise from the assembled crowd. It was all so wondrous and far-off – just another reminder that life beyond the fields and our small village was bursting with magic and excitement.
New Foals and New Beginnings
These stories also kindled hope within me. A young filly named Thistle was born to our farm mare, Blossom. Her dark brown coat gleamed in the sun, and her legs, long and powerful, promised a swift and strong future. With Thistle’s arrival came a renewed energy, the promise of new life and a future that stretches bright and wide.
The year of 1466 has drawn to a close, and we are about to face the winter, the earth covered in snow, the fields resting, waiting for spring to return. This is the time when stories are shared around the fire, warming us as much as the hearth itself. It is a time of dreams, whispers of journeys, and adventures waiting to unfold.
The whispers of the King’s tournament have travelled back with Robert, planted a seed of hope in my heart. Perhaps one day, my hooves will also tread on ground that's foreign and grand, and I will stand before a grand audience, displaying my strength and grace. I, too, will have stories to share!
Until next time, dear readers. Let your hooves tread softly and your spirits run wild.
Emma, the Grey Draught Mare of Hayfield
