Good morning, my fellow equines!
Emma here, writing to you from my lovely field in Hayfield, near Aberdeen. It’s a glorious day - the sun is shining, the birds are singing, and the wind whispers through the long grass.
Today I want to talk about a very special year for me - 1732. Why, you ask? Because that was the year my darling foal was born. Can you imagine? It's been years since I was a new mother myself.
And, speaking of special years, 1732 is also proving to be a significant year for our equine brethren across the world. There’s a lot to talk about in the realm of horses, and I wouldn’t want you to miss a single hoof-beat. So settle in with a bowl of fresh oats (and perhaps a sweet apple, my treat!) and let’s journey back to the year of my foal’s arrival…
My Foal, My Pride:
It was spring, the world newly green, the air a balmy breeze. The farmer's wife, Mary, always such a kind soul, checked on me daily, patting my belly, calling me her "handsome girl." You know, she doesn't treat me like just another beast of burden, and for that I am grateful.
My foal, a sturdy bay with a white blaze on his forehead and eyes full of curious spirit, came into the world after a long night of gentle rocking. Mary held him close, warm against her apron. It's amazing to think that little one was me, once upon a time.
She named him Angus, a name full of strength and fortitude. From the moment he opened his eyes, he had the most curious, spirited air about him. I swear, you could see the mischievous glint in those dark eyes of his!
Those first months, my world revolved around Angus. My role as his mother was my greatest pride and joy. He was the apple of my eye. I nurtured him, taught him to stand, to walk, to graze. The days passed in a blissful blur, the love we shared stronger than any field I have ever known.
Angus grew rapidly. By autumn, he was a robust colt, playing with other youngsters, the farm yard full of their happy whinnies. Mary kept Angus close, he was a gentle soul and a good learner, she said she would have him as her farm horse once he was fully grown. How proud I was. It’s so wonderful that my foal is in such loving, capable hands.
Across the Pond:
Speaking of gentle souls, in Virginia, across the great pond, a wonderful event happened! Mr. Washington, you know, George Washington, of that famous family, acquired the most amazing broodmare from a gentleman in Pennsylvania.
He named her Lady, and oh, my friends, she's said to be a magnificent horse. They say Lady has the kindest eyes and a calm, unwavering nature, ideal for breeding. Well, I suppose when you are a general and a planter, a gentle disposition comes in handy.
What intrigues me most, and truly, I know this is quite something for a horse like me to say, is the interest in improving the horse stock there. Mr. Washington, this distinguished gentleman, he has his heart set on producing excellent animals. I hear they’re striving for beauty, strength, and stamina in their horses – everything that we grey drafters represent! I understand the idea is that better breeds mean better farming. Isn't it marvellous to think about improving the lives of other horses? Perhaps Angus’s legacy will someday see improvements to the grey drafters too.
Across the Wide, Wide World:
News travels fast in the world of horses, and I hear there’s much to report from farther afield. In Asia, it seems they're quite the enthusiasts for a new breed of horse, the “Persian” or “Turkoman" horse. Apparently they are the real movers and shakers, known for their speed and endurance.
I've read that some even believe these horses can run faster than any of our native breeds! Imagine, that kind of swiftness! But then again, those Eastern lands are all about that; great warriors on horseback. All that battle talk, all that daring action. It’s not really my cup of tea. A steady grey mare, me. I prefer quiet fields and faithful companionship. And of course, a kind farm family.
Keeping Our Hoofbeats Steady:
You know, back here in the countryside, I find great peace in our work. I see the local blacksmith still keeps our hooves trimmed and strong, even though the world seems to be rushing onwards. I've heard whispers of metal carriages rolling into the towns. Imagine that, horses being overtaken by...metal!
But my task, and the task of all horses, still remains the same. To plow our fields, pull the heavy wagons, carry our loads with steadiness and strength. To offer ourselves, body and soul, to those who rely on us. To keep the cycle of the countryside moving forward.
To bring joy to our young ones, to show them the world with love and kindness. That’s our legacy, the grey drafters. I can already see Angus with that mischievous glint in his eye, as steady as the moorlands, a powerful little one, a good farmer's horse.
The world of horses is changing, but we’ll never lose our place in it. No, not while there's still grass to eat, and fields to plow, and families who love their trusty steeds.
Well, I think that’s enough from me for now. The evening is settling, a symphony of birdsong filling the air, and I know it's time to rest my weary bones. I'm feeling very content, you know? This lovely Hayfield, my little foal growing strong and healthy, the world unfolding before us all… It truly is a good life for a grey mare. And a happy, grateful one!
Until next time, happy trails!
