By Emma, a Grey Draught Mare from Hayfield, near Aberdeen
The sun shines warmly upon Hayfield this morning, painting the fields a dazzling green, and a gentle breeze stirs my long, white mane. My hooves tap softly against the cobblestones as I pull the heavy cart towards the village square. Another day in the life of a draught horse, you might say, but 1742 promises to be a year of great change, even for a workhorse like me.
There's something about the air this year. A buzzing energy that crackles like dry leaves in autumn. People speak of grand events – wars and politics – but those seem far removed from the daily rhythm of Hayfield, a small farming community nestled among rolling hills. It's the small, simple things that affect our lives, like the good price of barley this spring, and the arrival of a new farrier in town.
As my cart rattles past the market square, I notice a group of men arguing, their voices hoarse with passion. One man, tall and imposing with a red face, clutches a printed sheet of paper in his hand, its ink smudged from countless perusals. "We mustn't allow these English taxes! They're draining our economy! What good are horses if they're ridden only by the wealthy?" He slams the paper on the table, and a hushed silence descends upon the group. I prick my ears – these men speak of the very things that make up our existence: work, money, and our place in this world.
My work here, on the rolling fields of Hayfield, is the foundation of life in this village. I am one of many, a silent force hauling the plows, hauling the carts, hauling the burdens of life. But what is my place in this bigger world? What are my contributions beyond the tasks I'm assigned?
There is something that gnaws at my heart, a desire for something more. For some purpose beyond the routines of my day. I hear tales from passing travelers – whispered tales of racing horses, of beautiful steeds galloping across grand fields. They speak of shows and competitions, of prestige and pride. And although it is a far cry from the hard work that defines my life, I can't help but feel a spark of longing in my chest.
Maybe that spark is just a figment of my imagination. Perhaps a horse's life is just as it should be: working, providing, enduring. After all, even in these times of turmoil and unrest, there is comfort in routine.
That evening, the old mare Daisy, who is nearly 25 and knows every corner of this land, tells me of a traveling theatre that's been in town, putting on extravagant plays about the world beyond. It seems there's even a horse in the show, a grand chestnut stallion with a gleaming coat and elegant paces, leaping over flaming hurdles and carrying the heroes on a whirlwind journey through a world of dragons and knights. She calls him "a magnificent beast, a horse worthy of admiration."
My mind is stirred by her description. A horse that's more than a workhorse, a horse admired for its grace and power. A horse... like me, but with a different path.
"Do you think they need any help in Hayfield, Daisy? Could a horse like me ever..." I falter, the words struggling to form.
Daisy, wise and gentle, grazes silently beside me. "You are a fine horse, Emma," she says finally, "strong and beautiful. It is your strength that allows others to dream."
Perhaps, my heart whispers, there is something more. Perhaps the world is vast, and a grey draught horse with white mane and tail could be a part of it. Perhaps the story of my life is still being written.
And that, I think, as the full moon climbs high in the night sky, is what makes my heart beat a little faster, makes my mane catch the wind, and makes me want to reach for the horizon, even if just for a moment, even if just in my dreams.
A Wider World Beyond Hayfield
As 1742 unfolds, there is a quiet hum of change in the air. Though the lives of horses in the countryside continue largely as before – pulling plows, carrying loads, helping to sustain families - a broader movement is taking place. It is in these changes that the wider world touches the small life of a draught horse like me.
Newspapers like the London Gazette are growing in popularity, sharing stories about racing, carriage horses, and equestrian pursuits, drawing our world closer to those outside Hayfield. I hear people talking about the legendary "Black Bess," a grey thoroughbred owned by a Mr. Craven. He raced this remarkable horse throughout England, winning race after race, capturing hearts with his extraordinary speed and grace. It is whispered that his exploits bring crowds, prestige, and great sums of money to the racecourses he visits.
For those of us who toil in the fields, the lives of these horses are akin to legend. It is difficult to imagine, even to comprehend, that a horse can be so much more than a workhorse. Yet, even here in the isolated corner of Scotland, the stories of these remarkable animals reach us, reminding us that the possibilities for a horse can extend beyond the boundaries of our familiar work.
Even more exciting is the growing popularity of the Society of Dilettanti, a London-based club of connoisseurs devoted to art and classical literature. This group has been known to champion equine portraits as works of art, raising their prestige to unprecedented heights. In a recent exhibit, I heard they included a painting of a majestic, fiery red stallion with a proud and intelligent face, highlighting the beauty and nobility of a horse even in the stillness of art.
The Royal Studs, traditionally sources of powerful and handsome warhorses for the British army, are also adapting to new trends. They begin incorporating the techniques of famous continental horsemen, introducing new ideas of horse training and management. These changes create a stir across the kingdom, encouraging breeding programmes focused on athleticism and elegant movement. It seems even the mightiest of rulers are interested in elevating the status of the horse, even to a place of beauty and artistry.
These whispers from the world outside Hayfield create an irresistible hum within me, a feeling of possibility. What might be waiting for a horse like me if I ventured out from Hayfield's borders? What wonders might be revealed on those long, dusty roads that lead beyond my daily work?
I watch the riders passing by, their faces etched with excitement as they travel towards the grand cities, towards those legendary racecourses, towards the very epicenters of the world I yearn to see. It’s an exciting and sometimes unsettling time to be a horse in this year, 1742. Change is in the air, and I can feel it pushing me towards new horizons, towards dreams that are yet to be dreamt.
But until the next journey, until that day when the world beckons me forth, I continue to carry on, working alongside my fellow draught horses, drawing the heavy carts, bringing sustenance to our village, feeling the rhythm of work, the feel of the earth beneath my hooves, and the satisfaction of a task well-done. And as the sun sets upon Hayfield, and the stars come out to paint the night sky with their soft glow, I dream of wider spaces, grand fields, and adventures yet to come. Perhaps 1742 is the year where I’ll begin writing the next chapter of my story.
Stay tuned for Equiworld Blog #1743, where I’ll be sharing tales of my latest adventures on the fields, and the wonderful world of draught horses in this year of change.
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