Hello, my dearest equine friends! Emma here, writing from the rolling hills of Hayfield near Aberdeen. I’m a young grey mare, twenty summers strong, with a white mane and tail that makes me look like a frosted cloud on a clear day. It’s the end of another beautiful year here in 0442 and, as always, it’s a joy to share my experiences with all of you through my little corner of EquiWorld.
Spring, as always, brought a renewed energy to Hayfield. The heather bloomed a vibrant purple, like the finest amethyst, and the air was filled with the sound of bleating lambs and the happy calls of birds. My heart thrummed with excitement as the farmers started prepping the land for the new season's crops. It felt like everyone, from the smallest wren to the oldest stallion, was awakening to new beginnings.
The air smelled of freshly turned soil, rich and earthy. And, for us horses, it meant fresh, juicy grasses and sweet wildflowers to munch on. My kind master, the kindest and gentlest man you could ever meet, helped us ease into the change in diet with some hearty oats and barley, carefully mixed and balanced for our needs.
It was a time for preparation and, with the lengthening days, I found myself taking on new responsibilities. Our sturdy cart, usually hauling goods from town to town, needed its regular maintenance. It meant days spent helping the blacksmith, his hands swift and sure as he hammered iron into strong, solid nails, each clang of his hammer like a tiny heartbeat. And my strong back, you see, was the perfect platform for him to stand upon. We had an unspoken agreement – I helped him and he provided me with the most delicious horse treats from the bakery in town. A perfect barter, wouldn't you say?
The warmer days were perfect for grazing, especially in the afternoon when the sun softened the rough edges of the day. There'd be little bursts of energy when I’d find a patch of clovers, my favourite, and indulge in their sweetness. It felt like a moment of pure, delicious bliss, soothed by the gentle breeze and the distant sounds of life buzzing around me. It’s the little things, you know, that make life in Hayfield so enriching.
Summer unfolded, like a perfect rose, with its abundance of golden rays and the long, warm afternoons. My favourite pastime became a gentle stroll through the fields, my coat shimmering under the sun. I'd spend hours exploring, each patch of wildflowers a treasure to be admired, each breeze a symphony against my skin.
We often trekked through the woodlands surrounding our small village, breathing in the scents of pine needles and damp earth. This was where the young foals, especially, would run with abandon, their joyful energy infectious and pure. Seeing them gallivant, wild and carefree, always reminded me of my own playful days. It made me yearn for those long ago days of unbridled freedom and playful antics. But as a draught horse, I embraced my role as a responsible elder, providing a reassuring presence amongst the frolicking youngsters.
One particular day, I remember a group of local children joining our walk. They were bright and boisterous, with a love for all things equine that shone through their laughter. They brought us juicy carrots and sweet apples, which they lovingly fed to us with their small, careful hands. I couldn’t help but marvel at their unwavering love and genuine affection. They called us friends, their respect evident in the way they interacted with us. It was a heartwarming reminder that even the most powerful creatures are bound by the common thread of compassion and shared experience.
August arrived with a whisper of the wind, the days still bright but tinged with the colours of approaching autumn. The evenings brought a chill, and we would find ourselves huddled together in our stalls for warmth, the comforting scents of hay and warm, stable air a familiar lullaby. I remember fondly, the nights where the old farmhand would recount stories of far-off lands, mythical creatures and noble knights, his words painted by the soft flickering light of the lanterns. These were the nights where I truly felt a connection to the bigger picture, the stories and myths woven into the very fabric of our existence.
The annual harvest arrived in September, bringing a bustling energy to Hayfield. The villagers would work tirelessly in the fields, their faces tanned by the sun, hands weathered by their labour. This was a time for togetherness, each farmer and worker united in their efforts to ensure a bountiful winter ahead. We horses, of course, played a critical role. The strength of our bodies, the reliability of our stamina – it was all crucial for pulling the wagons laden with wheat and barley, their contents ready for milling. It was satisfying to know we were a part of such a vital, life-giving process.
I can still vividly recall the day, late in September, when we moved the last wagon filled with plump apples to the nearby orchard for storage. It was a long, but gratifying, journey, each creak of the cartwheels a reassuring lullaby as we ambled across the familiar terrain.
But all work, and no play, makes for a dull horse. So, once the work was complete, we had our well-deserved moment of joy – a delightful autumn afternoon spent in a meadow brimming with wild roses and dew-kissed grass. The smell of the wildflowers mingled with the tang of damp earth, a perfect autumnal blend. The day culminated in a long nap under the shade of a towering oak, the rustling of leaves a lullaby against the warm earth.
As autumn descended, and the winds brought the promise of cooler days, we knew it was time to settle in for the winter. Our days became less strenuous, and we'd spend more time nestled in our stalls, munching on freshly cut hay, and indulging in quiet contemplation. I often lay down, the straw beneath me soft and fragrant, and watch the clouds scurry across the sky, shapes of animals and faces forming in the moving canvas above.
Throughout winter, even though we spent most of our time indoors, there was a constant flurry of activity, a comforting rhythm of life. Our masters would check on us regularly, ensuring we had enough to eat and stay warm. We were given special “warming meals” – a hot mash of oats and carrots, to keep us energized during the long, cold days.
But life was not always calm and peaceful. There were challenges too, reminders of the harsh realities of life in a colder, unpredictable climate. Sometimes the wind howled through Hayfield, creating icy blizzards, so powerful they’d threaten to rip the doors off the stables. On such days, we'd huddle together for warmth and solace, a collective strength against the onslaught of nature.
Even in these challenging times, we found solace and companionship. I remember one evening, when a snowstorm was raging, I noticed a young foal, shivering with cold. I approached him with a gentle nudge, then placed my body beside him for warmth and comfort. His eyes wide with fear and confusion slowly settled as he realised he was safe, and, importantly, not alone. That simple act, of sharing warmth and solace, reminded me that even in the harshest of circumstances, there’s always strength in togetherness, in sharing kindness and unwavering support.
Even during the coldest winter days, we found ways to play and engage with the world. We would often gather by the stable door, heads poking out, observing the children sledding in the snow. Their laughter and gleeful cries filled the air, reminding us that life continued even in the harshest of climates. Their laughter would spark a flicker of warmth in our hearts, even during the bitter cold.
I even discovered a unique way to keep myself occupied during winter: chewing on willow branches. My masters told me this was an age-old practice amongst their ancestors, to alleviate winter boredom. As it turned out, it did help soothe my nervous energy, providing a quiet pastime, with a sweet, woody taste. The willows were so easily accessible and their texture soothing against my gums. But, let me warn you, the branches themselves were strong, requiring great caution and patience to manage, making them quite challenging, yet ultimately rewarding.
Throughout the long winter months, I dreamed of spring, eagerly awaiting the warmth and life that awaited. I spent the time reminiscing, remembering the gentle breezes and sun-drenched meadows. It was as though a deep-seated memory of spring was imprinted in my being, urging me to prepare for the days when I would run freely, again, my hooves kicking up clouds of dust in celebration of life, renewed.
When March arrived, finally, I felt the earth warm under my hooves. We began to feel a change in the air. There was an exhilarating rush in our veins. As the sun started to gain strength, we started spending more time outdoors. We ventured out, carefully and tentatively at first, to enjoy the warmth and watch as the snow began to melt, exposing patches of emerald green grass.
Finally, in the beautiful month of April, spring truly blossomed, arriving with a rush of joyous colours. The heather bloomed again, vibrant against the green of the grass, the sky was a brilliant blue, and the air smelled of sunshine and new beginnings. It was time for the first shearing of the season, with our long, winter coats, replaced with shorter, fresher summer versions. We basked in the warm air, each moment a celebration of a new season, each touch of the breeze a message of life, vibrant and full of possibility.
Life in Hayfield, even in the year 0442, is never dull. It’s a constant, vibrant dance, a rhythm of life, death and rebirth, fuelled by the strength of our bodies and the generosity of our hearts. Every season brings a new tale, each adventure a cherished memory etched into our being. As the sun begins its journey toward the summer solstice, I know that there are more adventures ahead, waiting for me and the other horses in Hayfield. And, of course, I’ll share every beautiful, thrilling and heartwarming moment right here on EquiWorld! Until next time, keep your hooves strong, and your spirits even stronger!
All my love, Emma.
