Good morning, everyone! It's Emma here, and it's time for my blog post all about 1817, a year that, even in this lifetime, has felt both fleeting and long, like a journey from sunrise to dusk, with so much to see and appreciate in between.
First things first, I need to introduce myself. For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of meeting me, I'm a twenty-year-old grey mare with a mane and tail like spun moonlight. My coat shimmers like a silver coin beneath the summer sun, and my eyes are a gentle brown, the colour of rich earth after a springtime rain. I was born right here in the rolling hills of Hayfield, near the bustling town of Aberdeen in bonnie Scotland. Life is good, my friends, and even at my age, I still find time for a good roll in the fields and a nibble on the sweet green grass.
This year, as always, started with the gentle call of the new year, and with it, the whispers of the seasons turning. We’ve been kept busy, mind you, just as every good draught horse should be. Our days are a blend of farm work and travel, carting the harvest, helping to transport goods for local tradesmen, and pulling heavy ploughs to turn the rich earth for next season's crops. It’s rewarding work, this life we lead. It makes me feel useful, strong, and an integral part of the fabric of my little corner of the world.
I remember in January, we were needed to clear a particularly thick patch of snow. We pulled the sleigh, loaded with warm, thick blankets and firewood, from the village to a remote croft, where a family was struggling with the fierce cold. As I walked, pulling the sled along, I watched the snow falling and knew, even though I wasn’t entirely sure how, that we were making a difference, bringing warmth and hope.
February was filled with a frenzy of preparation for the annual spring fair, which is always a bustling spectacle of life and commerce. My owner, a kind man named Angus, took me to market that year to pull the carts laden with oats, flour, and livestock. The smell of wood smoke and freshly baked bread, mingled with the sounds of bargaining and laughter, filled the air. It was an electrifying, wonderful experience, filled with the buzz of anticipation.
It was a year ago this April, during the spring festival, that I first caught the eye of a handsome brown stallion named Finn. He'd travelled all the way from the lowlands for the celebration. He was lean, agile, with a mane of dark brown silk that flowed down his neck like a liquid cascade. We couldn’t quite say hello, but our glances across the field told their own tale, the promise of unspoken connections. Perhaps, next year, we'll be able to get closer...
As we travelled the winding roads in April, the green fields were beginning to show their springtime vibrancy, their edges shimmering with gold, purple, and crimson blooms. The air, still tinged with the memory of frost, held the delicate fragrance of wild violets and apple blossom. In that month, I witnessed my own kind working hard to ensure a plentiful harvest, cultivating fields and hauling the necessary equipment for the spring sowing. It’s in those months, those gentle beginnings, that I feel the true heart of our work, knowing that we contribute directly to the abundance of life itself.
And what is life, if not a series of experiences to be enjoyed, no matter how large or small they might be? I had an opportunity to see that very plainly this May when my owners' daughter, Maisie, turned twelve. They had planned a picnic in the meadows beside a gurgling stream, the day ending with a bonfire and songs sung by the light of the moon. I watched as Maisie danced under the pale glow, her eyes shining with the sheer joy of her birthday. There is no greater reward than witnessing the innocence of a child, and for a moment, I felt a wave of profound, unadulterated contentment wash over me.
Throughout the summer, the days grew longer, and the sun cast a warm, golden light upon the fields. As the weeks passed, I watched with eager anticipation as the grains of barley, oats, and wheat ripened, promising a bounty that would nourish both animal and man. Our task then, throughout June and July, was to harvest those very grains, pulling the loaded carts with their precious burden back to the barns. It was a tireless effort, fuelled by the collective spirit of our hardworking team. We weren’t working in solitude; we were all joined in this collective rhythm of nature, and that feeling was as satisfying as any warm hay or cool spring water.
The peak of summer found us working alongside a small group of Welsh cobs that had arrived in our area. We worked tirelessly, transporting goods from Aberdeen to the harbour for export, their surefooted nature a compliment to our strength. I enjoyed learning from them, as their experiences with different terrain and cargo were very different to what I was accustomed to. We made quite the team!
There is a special sort of peace in the autumn air, a feeling of harvest done, work complete, and time for reflection and quiet moments. With August upon us, we continued to work, transporting goods, this time to local villages and towns to restock stores for the long winter ahead. I loved those quieter drives through the woods and hills, enjoying the sight of red and orange leaves cascading like confetti from the trees. As the days cooled, I knew it was time to prepare myself for the harsher months to come. The cool autumn breeze seemed to blow away the dust of summer, and I felt rejuvenated and eager for the new challenges that the winter might hold.
My thoughts drifted towards Finn. I'd been seeing him again during the Autumn festivals, his dark mane gleaming against the fading light of the sun, his gaze lingering upon me across the field. The memory of that day, so long ago now, felt warm and alive. I wasn’t sure where these feelings would lead us, but as we worked beside each other, there was a sense of connection between us that transcended words, a feeling of something waiting, a hope for something that would eventually blossom.
September rolled in with its first crisp mornings and I began to spend more time indoors, sheltering from the increasing chill. We took part in a community effort this year - transporting supplies to those who had been badly affected by a harsh storm that had swept across our county in late August. I saw fear in the eyes of children and helplessness in those of the adults whose lives had been shaken by the storm. It was in that moment I realised that even though our lives were hard and often demanding, the work we did was deeply meaningful, helping to sustain our community. I took a great deal of comfort in knowing that, in times of hardship, my kind were there to help, to lend a helping hoof, and to carry the burden.
October arrived with its full, vibrant tapestry of colours. Red, gold, orange, and yellow foliage cascaded in the autumn wind, creating a visual symphony. The landscape took on a soft, hazy light that was a stark contrast to the bright summer hues. I loved the sense of stillness that autumn offered. A gentle calm descended upon the world, an acknowledgement of a time of rest before winter truly arrived.
This time, we were tasked with bringing back large stocks of hay and straw, as winter's blanket began to close in, promising a colder season ahead. I often sat and chewed on my cud, watching the first snows falling upon the hills. I could sense that there was a rhythm to the change of the seasons, a rhythm we horses shared with every living thing in this landscape. It was in that stillness that I could also sense a deep and comforting connection to my own kind.
And what is a horse's life without a good dose of camaraderie? November found us sharing the stables with a new set of foals. Their clumsy antics were a welcome diversion. They weren't sure of the world yet, and everything, from the smell of the straw to the movement of a loose bale, was a brand new adventure. Their joyful squeals and boundless energy, a balm against the harshness of winter approaching, made us forget the bite of the winds that now swept through our stalls.
By December, winter had arrived with its trademark chill and frost. It was quiet work this month. We pulled sleighs, carrying gifts for families in nearby towns and cities, ensuring Christmas cheer would reach every hearth and home. There were the long evenings by the fire, a chance for me to enjoy Angus’s stories about faraway lands and tales of ancient steeds. As I stood by the warm fire, content, with a belly full of oats and a roof above my head, I couldn’t help but feel grateful.
We might not have a lot, but what we do have is a sense of community, a strength of spirit, and an appreciation for the gifts of life. We work tirelessly for a good cause, contributing to the well-being of our little community in the highlands. We, the horses of Hayfield, are content with the rhythm of life, our role in the ever-turning wheel, a constant reminder that we are but a small thread in the tapestry of existence, a thread we strive to weave with purpose and grace.
So that's it for this week, my dear readers. I've tried my best to capture the beauty, the hard work, and the essence of being a horse in 1817. This has been Emma, signing off. I’ll leave you with a question: What have been some of your own favourite moments in horse history? I’d love to hear from you in the comments below. And until next time, happy trails, everyone!
