Hello fellow horse lovers! Welcome back to my blog, Emma's Equi-Tales! Today, I'm taking a little trip back in time, specifically to the year 0223, the year I was born. I am, after all, a historian in my spare time – well, what passes for “spare time” in the life of a working horse!
But don’t let that title fool you! There’s no dust and cobwebs in my blog! I want to bring history alive and show you that horses, even back in 0223, weren't just some boring old beasts of burden, but companions, friends, and crucial members of society. Just like today!
So let’s take a virtual journey back in time to Hayfield, just outside of Aberdeen. In the year 0223, life in the countryside was very different from today. Imagine the bustling streets we see in the movies replaced with paths, the cars replaced with horse-drawn carts, and the smell of engine fumes replaced with fresh air and the scent of damp earth after a summer downpour.
Born into a life of purpose.
I, Emma, a lovely grey mare with a white mane and tail as elegant as a spun-silk dress, came into this world, healthy and strong, on a crisp, bright spring morning. The world was fresh and vibrant, just like a young foal’s first experiences! As I blinked open my eyes for the first time, my mum, a strong and wise mare called Willow, gave me the best welcome a baby horse could ask for: a gentle nudge and the sweetest of sniffs. The world was all warmth and familiar smells, and even the other horses seemed to be nudging me gently, as if they had been waiting for me all along!
My father, the beautiful and powerful black stallion called Merlin, came galloping across the field as I stood up on my wobbly legs for the first time. My brother, a stout bay called Angus, followed, looking quite concerned about my shaky gait. He gave me a curious look, and then led me to a patch of lush, fresh clover. That was my very first breakfast! I could only manage a few mouthfuls before my legs gave way, and I lay down, contentedly, beneath the warm sunshine.
A Family of Draught Horses.
Life for us in Hayfield wasn’t about racing or flashy tricks. It was about working, helping humans with tasks big and small. My family and I belonged to the family that owned the land. They called us "draught horses" because of our strength and ability to pull loads. And trust me, you’d have seen us pull loads! Imagine huge carts filled with harvested crops, barrels of fresh water, and even giant pieces of timber pulled through the dirt by the incredible power of our muscles! We were the backbones of their life in this quiet corner of Scotland, and we did it with pride.
As I grew, the farmers treated me kindly and the farmhands even gave me a proper Scottish name, “Emma,” as beautiful as a meadow. But we never got the pampered, stall-life of racing horses. Our home was the wide open fields of the Hayfield farm, where we grazed and frolicked under the vast Scottish skies. We enjoyed the freedom of our fields but also worked hard, and life taught me the meaning of camaraderie, resilience, and the power of honoring tradition.
A Day in the Life of a Working Horse.
Morning came early in Hayfield. After grazing under the morning dew, the day would start with our work. Our duties were many! From tilling the fields to bringing hay into the stables and transporting freshly churned butter to the local market. The world was alive with the sights, smells, and sounds of hard work and happy collaboration.
A well-oiled cart, my favourite harness, and a well-trained team made our job almost a game. As I pulled and strode alongside my stablemates, my big hooves made a rhythmical thumping on the stone path. Every movement had to be precise, for carrying even the heaviest of burdens required rhythm, synchronisation and good teamwork!
I could hear the excited shouting of children when we were coming back from the market, our cart full of juicy oranges and tempting sweets for everyone. People in Hayfield always loved a fresh delivery and would line the streets with smiles on their faces and little bouquets of wildflowers in their hands, waiting for the fresh bounty.
The day would finish with a well-earned supper, and we’d lie down on our soft hay, the air full of the sound of buzzing flies and chirping birds. The night sky was our starry canvas, and I would watch with wonder and satisfaction as the stars twinkled above my field. It was in those quiet moments that I felt a deep contentment, knowing that my work was truly part of the world, just like the sun, the wind, and the rain.
The Changing World.
Life went on, and as I aged, I watched the world slowly begin to change. It began subtly, at first. A new sound – a humming machine, the "Iron Horse", pulling freight wagons down the tracks. The smell of coals coming from its chimney would travel for miles! People were fascinated by the new “invention.” Soon, new types of machines started making their appearance in Hayfield, machines that helped with the hard work of farming and transported goods much faster than we horses ever could. I would often stand by the fields and watch in disbelief, my powerful muscles unused as the work of men and women was being replaced with a mechanical, metal giant. But while I was apprehensive, my master, Mr. Ferguson, a kind and fair man with a booming laugh, kept reminding us, "There will always be work for horses. Horses are friends, and companions, things these machines can never be."
I continued to do my job. As did the other draught horses. Despite these new developments, horses remained an integral part of Hayfield life. They pulled carriages, carried men and women across the vast stretches of the highlands, and provided a companionship no machine could ever replace. My days remained busy, pulling plows through freshly ploughed fields, delivering the freshest fish caught in the sea, and bringing timber for the nearby houses and mills. It was our contribution to the bustling life of Hayfield, even with the rising clamour of machinery around us.
The year 0223, to this day, feels like the beginning of it all. I was a young foal back then, and my spirit still reflects that excitement and curiosity. The world, it seems, is a constantly moving, evolving place! But my own journey, a simple grey mare working for her home, is woven into that history and, to my heart, it still has great purpose, still inspires love, still is as strong as my own sturdy legs.
Next time, join me as I travel a little further through time. The years to come are brimming with even more discoveries and fascinating insights into the role horses play in the great, big world we are all a part of. Stay tuned, you lovely people! This is Emma, signing off from Hayfield. Until next time!
