History of Horses in the year 0084

Hello there, lovely equines!

It's Emma here, writing to you all from Hayfield, a wee farm near Aberdeen in Scotland. As you all know, I'm a grey draught horse, with a white mane and tail like spun snow, and I love sharing all my knowledge and thoughts about our wonderful equine world.

This week, we’re journeying back in time, all the way to the year 0084! That’s right, 84 years after the year zero, long before we were called "horses", before our names were written in scrolls instead of scrolled across websites, and long before any of the breeds we know today had even come to be. Can you imagine!

Today, I’ll be sharing a snippet of my typical day as a farm horse in this time, through the eyes of my great-great-great-grand-grandmother, a brave and kind grey filly called Eira. Let’s step back in time…

Dawn Breaks Over Hayfield

“Mmm… breakfast!” I hear a voice behind me as the first sunrays sneak over the rolling Scottish hills. My big, gentle brother, Alaric, stretches his legs and yawns, a great big cloud of mist rolling from his nostrils.

“Alaric, slow down!” a gruff, deep voice urges him, a heavy sigh accompanying the words. Our farmer, whose name is pronounced ‘Dunan,’ a strong man with a warm heart and eyes as blue as the sky on a summer’s day, reaches out with his calloused hand to scoop the breakfast oats into our bowls.

We gobble them down fast. I love the warmth of the oats as they settle in my belly, and feel my legs buzzing with energy. I know I’ll need it for a long day. This is the day of the Hay Harvest. It’s my favourite day!

“Come along then, Eira. We need to get started!” Dunan calls, chuckling at our enthusiastic munching. I paw the ground, eagerly anticipating another great day on the Hayfield.

A Day of Teamwork and Tradition

As soon as we finish our porridge (or rather, barley and wild grasses in my day), Dunan guides us toward the great, rolling fields that surround our small stone cottage. There are seven of us working together. Each one, a different shade of grey, some even with faint chestnut streaks, with a mane or tail that is not yet white but tinged with the colour of fallen leaves.

My family are the oldest here, a bond we share beyond just kinship. For centuries, our line has served this farm, helping it flourish. We pull the wooden plows that turn over the soil, turning hard clay into fertile earth, ready for new crops. And today, we are the backbone of the hay harvest.

“Keep your heads low, steady!” Dunan’s voice rings out, strong and authoritative, and we obey. Pulling together as one, we move back and forth, cutting the long, luscious hay. I feel the heat of the sun, the breeze blowing through my mane. Each swing of my powerful forelegs feels satisfying, a deep primal rhythm. We work all morning, Dunan walking with us, adjusting the reins. His keen eyes track our movements, always keeping us safe and in sync.

By midday, we are all bathed in sweat, breathing hard, but the hay field stretches, yellow-green, already starting to form rows of stacked hay.

A Break and A Bit of Play

“Right, a rest for you all, time for me to do the same!” Dunan says, his voice rough with exertion, but his face alight with a gentle grin.

We all relax and let our limbs uncoil, a contented sigh escaping us. It’s hot and muggy, and a thin layer of sweat glistens on my hide. But this doesn’t matter. We are filled with satisfaction, the deep inner joy that comes with hard work, work done as a family.

The children come out to join us then, a noisy gaggle of small boys and girls, full of energy and excitement. The youngest, a sturdy girl called Fraya with auburn curls, rushes to give me a big hug around my neck. “You’re the strongest horse, Eira! And your white mane is like the white snow on the mountains!” she declares, her eyes gleaming. I can’t help but feel a wave of affection for this kind little human. I nudge her with my nose, my breath warm in the air.

She squeals in delight. I am the strongest horse. My heart swells with pride, because I know that the strength and care we horses give, whether it’s pulling the plow, or nurturing a little girl, is vital to this land, this home.

And soon, my energy returns, the warmth of the hay spreading its scent through the air. It’s time for the next stage. I am eager to see the hay gathered into rows, ready for storage for the long winter. We will play our role in ensuring that all the families of Hayfield can survive until the spring, when new green shoots break through the ground once more.

Yes, in 0084, riding was still quite rare, something mostly only practiced by the noblemen, warriors, and chiefs of this time. We were mostly farm workers, our strength essential to farming life. We were essential, not only for pulling the plows, but also for grinding grain and transporting goods, as well as bringing families together and creating that sense of deep companionship with the people of Hayfield. We didn’t just work for them; we worked with them.

Evening Light at Hayfield

As dusk approaches, we return home. We’re weary but contented. Dunan makes sure we all have clean water and some barley, for nourishment and refreshment. Then we gather in a tight cluster beneath the sturdy stone roof of the barn, safe from the falling rain and howling winds. My siblings snuggle next to me, our breaths mingling with the air, creating a rhythm of quiet contentment.

This is life as a horse, a life where our role is to nourish the land, to keep the families of this small community strong and healthy. There is no room for envy, for yearning, only a sense of purpose. A deep understanding of the value of teamwork. We are the horses, we are Hayfield.

End of Eira's Diary

And that’s our history lesson for this week!

While the lives of horses in 0084 might have been a bit different than what you are used to, the basic bonds of friendship, the need for strong, trustworthy teamwork, and a love of the simple, fulfilling things in life, all remain true. I find it inspiring to consider the legacy we horses hold! We've come a long way, my dear friends! I'm sure Eira would be surprised and happy to know that we're still so highly respected today, a treasured part of so many people’s lives.

Next time we'll go through an earlier time, delving back into a time when wild horses were roaming all over, a story of how they were domesticated for the first time, and that would make an even bigger surprise for my old friend, Eira.

As always, I wish you all happy trails and warm stable days!

Your friend, Emma, from Hayfield