By Emma, Hayfield, Scotland
Well, dear fellow equines, here I am again, scribbling away in my stable, the faint smell of oats wafting through the air. The sun is dipping behind the heather-clad hills, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink – a beautiful scene that I never tire of witnessing. This week, I thought I’d talk a little about life as a grey mare in the year 1506, specifically in my little corner of Scotland. You see, I find that the years can easily blend into one another if you don’t take the time to look back and appreciate them.
Firstly, let me tell you, this has been a rather peaceful year. No grand wars to disrupt the rhythm of my day. As a draught horse, you can imagine my delight! No hauling heavy cannons or marching through muddy fields. My days are filled with the gentler tasks that I find so fulfilling - pulling the farmer's cart to market, transporting goods to nearby villages, and, most importantly, working the fields with my fellow draught horses.
This year has brought a particular abundance of oats and barley, thanks to a long and sunny summer. It’s filled our bellies and kept us strong enough to keep pulling, which I’m told makes the human farmers happy, and who wouldn't want to please those who care for you, eh?
Speaking of human farmers, they're always bustling about, their voices ringing out in conversation. One thing that truly amuses me are their horse-related customs. You know, the fancy braided manes and tails, the little leather saddles adorned with intricate carvings, and the silver bells they sometimes hang on our bridles – they believe it makes us look “smart.” As for me, well, I find comfort in simplicity - a good strong bridle and a well-worn saddle is all I need to feel confident and prepared.
Although this year has been rather calm for me, there are exciting developments happening in the world of horses beyond our small corner of Scotland. I hear whispers on the wind that faraway kingdoms, like Spain, are experiencing a revival in the world of horses, with majestic breeds like the Andalusian and Lusitano receiving much admiration. Their elegant movements and grace are quite a contrast to our hardworking strength here in Scotland, and, I confess, they stir a bit of wanderlust in my soul.
My friends and I also hear about knights in shining armor, grand tournaments where horses and riders test their skills and agility. This, I am told, has been particularly popular in England. Perhaps next year we'll catch a glimpse of one of these tournaments on our travels? A little adventure wouldn't be amiss, even for a mare like myself.
There are, of course, a plethora of other stories, whispers and legends concerning the world of horses that I catch wind of through travelers and merchants that pass through Hayfield. From the great forests of Eastern Europe where wild horses roam freely, to the Silk Road, a legendary pathway leading to exotic lands and strange and magnificent steeds. These tales remind me of the vast world that we share with so many different kinds of horses – from the graceful and sleek thoroughbreds, to the small and sturdy ponies that carry young children through the countryside. What a beautiful, diverse tapestry of horse kind we are, each unique, each with our own tale to tell.
This time of year always brings a feeling of change, of new beginnings. The leaves on the trees have begun to turn, a fiery mosaic of golds, oranges, and reds against the azure sky. A sense of quietude has settled upon the countryside as preparations for the long, cold winter ahead are well underway.
This year, my little stable is a little more crowded. Our farmer's family welcomed a newborn foal, a black mare named Lily, this past spring. I feel quite protective of the little one, often watching over her as she learns the ways of the world. Her energy is contagious and reminds me of a younger time. I long to tell her of adventures beyond these green fields, of the world waiting to be discovered.
Life for a draught horse isn't always exciting, but I find joy in the everyday. In the feel of the wind against my mane as I pull a laden cart, in the camaraderie with my fellow horses, in the peaceful sound of the rustling leaves as autumn creeps upon the countryside. It’s a life of work, of quiet strength, and of a profound connection to the land. And it is this, dear equines, that makes me feel truly blessed to be a horse, especially in the year 1506.
Until next time, dear friends.
Yours in mane and tail, Emma.
