By Emma, A Grey Draught Mare from Hayfield near Aberdeen
My hooves are firmly planted on the crisp morning grass, the dew still clinging to the blades like diamonds. I raise my head to greet the dawn, the smell of freshly turned earth and the crispness of the morning air a familiar symphony. As the sun climbs, the distant sound of my master's hammer, building a new cart for his market rounds, rouses me from my morning contemplation. Ah, to be a mare of leisure, I think. To simply graze, sleep and let the days pass in quiet reflection. Yet, the life of a working mare in this grand year of 1746 holds its own joys. And perhaps a few uncertainties.
Today I stand at the heart of Hayfield, a tiny village tucked amidst the rolling Scottish hills, a village nestled near the bustling town of Aberdeen. Life is simple here - a community bound by hard work, close bonds, and the enduring partnership between humans and horses like me.
I am a grey mare, standing tall with a proud white mane and tail. I am, if I may say it myself, a handsome creature. The year is 1746, and like all the other mares, I carry a hefty burden. We are, in this year, not just companions, but partners in the very fabric of life in this corner of Scotland. Our strong backs bear the weight of life - our strong shoulders hauling carts full of goods to market, helping to plow the fields, or pulling stones to build homes and bridges.
The World Around Us
The world outside Hayfield seems ever larger than before. We hear whispers, murmurs and rumours carried on the wind. Whispers of rebellion. A year ago, a battle took place, the likes of which we've never seen before. They call it Culloden. It's said a man named Charles, bearing the title of 'The Young Pretender', lost this great battle. We see soldiers marching through the countryside, the drums beat a rhythm of uncertainty, their boots trampling on the delicate meadows that nurture us. Fear, even a slight fear, creeps into our quiet world, replacing the comfortable humdrum with something unsettling. But we are resilient. We are horses, strong and sturdy, built for carrying heavy burdens, and these burdens extend to our emotions, to the worries that flit through our minds as well. We find strength in our community.
The villagers speak in hushed tones about the battle, its echoes still lingering in the air. We see people arrive at our village from other parts of the country. They tell stories, recount their journeys. We watch as our human friends exchange stories, expressions turning sombre, yet a quiet resilience gleaming in their eyes.
A Horse’s Day: Simple Delights & Work's Demands
Life here, though punctuated with moments of quiet contemplation, is also a steady flow of work. We rise with the dawn, greeted by the comforting rumble of human voices. Our coats are brushed with a practiced gentleness by human hands. A fresh hay bale is brought to the barn, the scent of sun-dried grass filling the air. The morning routine unfolds in a dance of careful steps.
Our task today is transporting the market goods to the next village, and I stand beside my companion, Duncan, a sturdy bay stallion with a kind eye. Duncan and I have worked side by side for years, our friendship as strong and unwavering as the bonds that unite the whole village. As we pull the cart, laden with vegetables, cheeses, and cloth, a feeling of quiet pride washes over me. It is a simple joy, yet it is what makes us a part of this community. We are a cog in the wheel of life, our effort adding to the fabric of Hayfield’s existence.
Our Connection to Humanity
My master, William, is a man of gentle hands. I have seen how his eyes, crinkled at the corners from laughter and sunshine, soften as they rest on me. He understands the language of our bodies, recognizing my tired sigh as a plea for rest, and our quick whinny as a joyous greeting. William treats me with the utmost respect, feeding me from his own hand, cleaning my wounds with tenderness, and grooming my coat with quiet efficiency. His connection with me, a relationship born out of shared need and reliance, transcends the borders of language. It’s an unspoken conversation, a communication that speaks volumes through our shared actions, gestures and a silent understanding that makes life fulfilling.
As we journey through the hills, I let my mind wander. The countryside spreads out before me like a painted tapestry – fields of rolling barley, meadows brimming with wildflowers, and the distant glimpse of the shimmering North Sea. A few clouds scud across the blue canvas, painting fleeting shadows across the green slopes. This landscape is my world, my home.
We arrive at the market. The stalls brim with vibrant hues and tempting scents - red apples, orange carrots, fragrant cheeses, and sturdy bolts of cloth in hues of red, blue and brown. We pause near the bakers, where the scent of bread, still warm from the ovens, fills the air, a scent I always find intoxicating. But, I cannot linger. There’s work to be done, a schedule to maintain. William speaks of taking his cart to the coastal towns, of venturing further, maybe even as far as London. He mentions stories of bustling streets filled with horses, the streets a parade of gleaming carriages, elegant coaches, and stately stallions pulling their human passengers through a world of grandeur. I watch him speak, a wistful longing echoing within me. I feel an urge, a yearning, a thirst to experience something beyond our little valley. I’ve seen visitors arrive, mounted on their fine steeds. I've seen men and women ride with purpose, grace, and determination. A quiet wonder swells inside me. Perhaps there is more to this life, a purpose beyond carrying goods and hauling stone. But the thought is fleeting, a daydream quickly overshadowed by the pressing needs of the day.
The day continues. We return to Hayfield, the sun starting its descent. William is quick to unpack the cart, storing goods back into the shelves. There’s an exhausted air to him now, the lines around his eyes slightly deeper, his posture hinting at weariness. I feel a surge of empathy for him, and this understanding deepens my love and loyalty. I am here for him, his silent companion, his strength in this harsh and unforgiving world. He needs me just as I need him.
Reflections of a Mare in the Evening Hours
The evening settles over the hills, bathing the land in a warm, golden glow. I lean against the rough bark of a sturdy oak tree. I hear children’s laughter echoing down the valley, followed by the comforting, melodic sound of the church bells, calling the village folk to prayer. A sense of peace descends. This moment, this serenity, fills my soul with calm contentment.
As the night deepens, and the stars emerge, I find solace in the dark beauty of the moonlit hills, the familiar comfort of my barn, and the tender caress of William’s hand on my flanks. We are but a small part of this world. Yet, we hold a profound connection, human and horse. This world, in all its simplicity and grandeur, is the world I know. This world is home. And as the moon casts long, dancing shadows across the valley, I feel a sense of deep satisfaction, for today, we did our part in weaving this beautiful tapestry called life. And for this, I feel gratitude.
