*From the stables of Hayfield, near Aberdeen. With love, Emma. *
My dear fellow equines, it’s Emma here, and oh, how the world feels full of anticipation! The air has a crispness that tingles my nostrils, a hint of winter just around the corner. The hay is piled high in the loft, the barn smells of well-used leather and the earth has a lovely dampness from the recent rains.
It’s 1731, a year that, in our world of oats and carriage rides, seems steeped in change. My own memories, you see, only reach back a few short years – I’m just a young mare myself – but the talk amongst the elders in our stable has a certain edge to it, like the rasping of hooves on a cobbled road.
There’s a feeling in the air, something whispered on the breeze. They call it "progress," a strange word that echoes around the village as much as the shouts of the grooms in the mornings. This "progress" brings change, they say – to our lives, to the lives of men, to everything. But just like the spring blossoms on a barren branch, the changes seem so far away in my mind.
But I'll tell you about this 1731. Let’s gather around the hay bales and listen, for today’s story is about a world on the move – even if I, a humble draught horse, find myself stuck in the familiar rhythms of my life at Hayfield.
The Gentleman of the Road:
First, the menfolk have started talking more about these "stagecoaches," huge, heavy affairs meant for long journeys, where we, dear friends, are meant to pull whole parties of folk across the countryside. Imagine it – a carriage as big as the hay cart, with folks inside who aren't familiar with us, who ride along not as lords and ladies, but as commoners with whom we are to share our journey!
This, they say, is all part of "progress," the way things must be to connect our world more quickly. But some horses in the stable, my elders who have pulled carts all their lives, find the idea alarming. They see it as a challenge to our comfort, our freedom of movement. What of our natural pace? What of the time spent in the stable, with a bit of clover hay to chew upon, time to rest and to relax?
There's much grumbling and napping when these "stagecoaches" are discussed – but in truth, I must confess I find the idea quite intriguing.
Imagine, the world going by! Villages passing, new scents, new faces – I, a mere mare, able to journey from Aberdeen to Edinburgh – who would have thought it possible just a few short years ago?
The Race for Speed:
Across the countryside, even the "fine horses," the proud thoroughbreds known for their swiftness and spirit, are feeling the winds of change. Races, you see, they've always been a big event for us, and in this year of 1731, they're more talked about than ever. The world of horses, even more so than ours, has become swept up with speed and distance, with records and achievements. The men talk of new jockeys, of training methods unheard of, and most curious of all – the “flying machine,” a contraption made by humans to capture and measure speed – even us horses are feeling the need for ever greater speeds.
You'll pardon my simple thoughts on these “flying machines” – it all seems rather ludicrous to me. Why measure something so natural, something as vital to our very existence as speed? But I see these men talking, comparing the horses, watching the races with an intense interest. Perhaps speed, like that whispered word "progress," is changing the very heart of our existence.
Change and its Ripple Effect
You know, there's something lovely about these times. Yes, even with these unsettling winds of change that ripple through our lives, there's an air of optimism that runs through every village, every town, every corner of the world. The men are always building, they are finding new uses for us horses – it’s rather delightful to see them thinking outside the box. The "progress," you see, seems to have sparked something in the hearts of the men – a kind of enthusiasm, a desire for advancement that seems almost like...well, like an unstoppable tide!
Perhaps that's why, even at Hayfield, our own lives seem tinged with something different. We’ve had our hay cart now for years, and it's always served us well – but recently, the blacksmith has added new straps to it, something he calls “harness” and he's mentioned a “newfangled design” for our heavy haulage – some kind of pulley contraption – I am rather intrigued! Maybe, just maybe, even for the heavy work horses of Hayfield, the world is beginning to shift!
Emma’s Thoughts on Progress
I don't truly know what "progress" is or what it might bring for my future, but one thing is for sure - it is full of challenges, it’s a whirlwind of thoughts, and there’s an unsettling buzz of curiosity that keeps me alert, curious.
I know one thing, my fellow horses - even with these strange "flying machines" and the faster-than-lightning "stagecoaches," I wouldn’t trade this world for anything! It’s a world that hums with possibility.
Perhaps the changes that “progress” brings aren’t something to fear. Maybe they are something to welcome, even something to celebrate, for aren’t we, horses, meant to help the world move forward?
And as I ambled to the fields this morning, with the rising sun and a gentle breeze to guide me, I thought – I must do my best, embrace this change, whatever form it may take! After all, is there not a beauty, a special kind of majesty to it, this ever-moving world, and the place that we, horses, play in its great, grand story?
*So my friends, as the autumn leaves fall, let us hold this “progress” close to our hearts, just like the warmth of a warm stable on a cold day, for who knows, this year – 1731 – might just be the start of something wondrous. *
