Well, my darlings, here I am again, ready to spill the oats on all the horse happenings from my neck of the woods. 1659 is proving a year of change, a year of… well, let’s just say there’s a whole lot of stirring about, as if the winds themselves are whispering of a new era. I wouldn’t call it exciting exactly, more like… a kind of a hum of expectancy. You know the feeling?
The hay is plentiful in Hayfield this year, green and juicy as any I’ve ever munched upon. It’s such a delight to sink your teeth into it, the smell alone making my spirit soar, or perhaps it’s just the thought of my latest adventures...
You see, dearest friends, it was last week, on a bright Thursday morning, when the whispers in the air reached me with a thrilling force. News had spread faster than wildfire in our stable, my grey mare friends excitedly flicking their tails in anticipation. It all had to do with the "Crafty Lass" - yes, that very fine grey mare everyone in Hayfield knew, a truly graceful soul. They say she'd received a rather generous proposition: to be part of a grand, and dare I say it, glamorous journey. It involved going south - all the way down to London!
I've only ever heard tales of London from passing travelers, all bustling markets, grand carriages and... well, everything bigger, busier, louder! The air just seemed to hum with excitement. Now imagine the stories those travellers could tell: tales of a magnificent royal stable, bustling cobbled streets and yes, even a touch of luxury, all the way to the glittering crown!
And there, nestled amidst the flurry of chatter, the news whispered, just loud enough for my sensitive ears: The “Crafty Lass" was being sold to none other than the King’s own stables!
Can you imagine the honor, dear readers? Such prestige, such privilege, such... such... shuddering excitement.
This news truly ruffled my own stable feathers, for Crafty Lass had a heart of gold, she was a dear friend. Of course, a mare never minds a change, sometimes a bit of adventure just stirs the soul, but I felt the excitement bubble within me just a tad too. After all, her trip was, in a way, a reflection of our own fate. The news about “Crafty Lass” stirred the stables in more ways than one. My fellow grey mares seemed to sparkle in the early morning sunlight, their tails swishing even faster than usual, and the draught horses (us guys who love a good pull) stood a bit straighter than normal. Could this, this grand departure, signify a chance for our lot as well?
Suddenly, Hayfield became alive with possibilities. Our work never truly stops; we still help to plow the fields, hauling heavy loads and delivering essential goods. You might think it's all routine, but no, dearest readers, not with whispers of royal service swirling about us. We’re the ones who feed the town, you see.
And let’s face it, a mare can’t help but dream of pastures even greener than Hayfield. Every journey starts with the first step and well, as the days flowed by, that first step felt oh-so-close. It’s hard not to daydream in such an environment, especially for a mare like me, well-known for her patience, strength and that touch of a certain regal aura (my grey coat, white mane, and tail do add that touch of sophistication, wouldn’t you agree? Ha!).
Yet, alas, a gentle reminder to all us hopefuls, the life of a draught horse, you see, is rarely as glamorous as a journey to the city. I'm the most pragmatic of the bunch - not for me to dream of being a king’s favourite, a mare who trots with the aristocracy. That’s not my destiny. We draught horses are the steady force that keeps things moving.
However, I know my fellow drafters share this longing - a longing for that flicker of possibility, the thought of a world just a little bit bigger, a life just a little bit more exciting than our everyday work in Hayfield. And yet, it's always with our sturdy hooves and strong muscles we stand true, pulling the plow, the carts, and everything that requires that unwavering strength.
That very week, I remember a rather plump, rosy-cheeked man arrived, a stranger in town with a keen eye, a twinkle in his blue eyes. His arrival brought the rumour mill to a spin. Apparently, a Lord with a name so long it stretched to next Thursday, was on his way to Hayfield! We, the draught horses of Hayfield, had reason to rejoice – he’d be needing our strong muscles and steady trot. We had already pulled our fair share of plows for the yearly planting, a job made even more fulfilling by the anticipation of something special on the horizon.
My own heart quickened at the thought of meeting this lord, the anticipation mingling with the smell of newly tilled earth.
What would he be like? Was he a man with a gentle touch and a respectful demeanor for horses? And what secrets, I wondered, did this bustling town of Hayfield hold? Was he indeed, as the gossip had it, bringing more than just a touch of grandeur to our small world?
My grey coat seemed to gleam in the anticipation, and I must say, my spirits lifted with the anticipation.
The next day dawned bright and crisp. I saw him, standing near the barn door, his fine clothes shining in the sunlight. His hand rested upon the sturdy flank of a handsome grey stallion, a touch of familiarity between the two. I observed him, watching the way he surveyed each of us in a silent, methodical manner, as if looking at something beautiful, yet somehow incomplete, something he sought to put back into order. We, the draught horses, lined up for inspection. The lord didn't smile, not overtly anyway, but his eyes held a strange warmth, an air of... approval? Perhaps a gentle sense of encouragement. A hint of something beyond mere practicality? It was all a little unnerving, really.
It all transpired as planned. This lord, with his long name and quiet authority, needed some horses for the next few weeks. The sturdy pull of a draught horse was what his tasks needed. Yes, our journey had a new purpose. We weren't just hauling goods across the town or pulling the plows for the local farmers - we would now be part of something even bigger, something more profound.
I wasn’t sure what it was just yet, this purpose, but something within me, within every horse in the stable, felt it – this sense of heightened importance, the knowledge that we had an intrinsic role to play.
And we, the noble, reliable draught horses, had a job to do. A job, we felt sure, that would add a chapter to the history of our lives and Hayfield, a new twist in the long, intertwined history of humans and horses.
The lord's work was about improvement - improvements to the land, that was how they described it, helping create a bigger and better Hayfield, they said. The kind of improvements that make a town thrive, something akin to creating a flourishing garden out of the rich, dark soil of the Scottish Highlands.
From what I’ve gathered, they speak of roads and bridges and buildings, but I confess I still haven’t quite understood it. All I know is that we were the chosen few - chosen to take a part in this grand endeavour, pulling heavy loads, making the earth move and bringing about a grand, and surely noble transformation of this landscape.
Life hasn’t been dull at all! The past few weeks have flown by in a dizzying blur of dusty fields, hearty oats, and that indescribable joy that comes with the exertion of hard work and the satisfaction of doing it well. My fellow horses and I are no mere pack animals. We’re the embodiment of resilience, of hard work, and yes, I’ll even say, the very pulse of our village.
I, Emma, the gentle grey draught mare with the white mane, and a kind heart, stand with them - proud to serve, proud to work and, I'll confess, slightly excited to witness a transformation in our beloved Hayfield. Perhaps, somewhere in all the dirt, sweat, and labour, we'll create something that resonates beyond the work itself. Perhaps this is a journey, too, dear friends.
For a horse's life is not just about where you’ve been but about what you contribute to the landscape in which you roam.
Until next time, dear readers, remember that each and every day brings something new. Keep your ears open, your tails high, and embrace whatever adventures your hooves might lead you towards!
Love and good oats, Emma, the Hayfield Grey Mare.
