Post #1307
A Grey Mare's Tale:
Well, my fellow equines, I am Emma, a fine grey draught mare from the bustling village of Hayfield, nestled near the magnificent city of Aberdeen in Scotland. You might even call me "grey as the storm clouds rolling in off the North Sea," but I can assure you my heart is filled with the sun's warmth and a generous dash of ginger – you can always tell by my white mane and tail, flowing like silver streams against the clouds.
Today, I sit under the boughs of a venerable oak, reflecting on the year 1307, a time of change, but also of stability for the horse world. I was just a young filly when 1307 dawned. My memories are a blur of grassy fields, my mother's warm flank, and the playful antics of the other youngsters. You wouldn't think, dear reader, that my life could hold much drama, would you? Well, you'd be mistaken! For within the humble tasks of a farm mare lie untold tales of camaraderie, struggle, and of course, the undeniable pleasure of pulling a good, sturdy cart.
The world around me in 1307 felt alive. The Scots, as you know, are a hardy bunch, fiercely independent and connected to the land. Our king, the brave Robert the Bruce, had only recently become King of Scotland after defeating John Balliol, the English puppet King, with the help of his loyal, iron-willed men and the strong backs of horses like me! This war had not been an easy one. We lost many of our brothers and sisters to the clash of swords and the grueling battles fought across the fields. I remember my sire, old Greybeard, returning from a skirmish with a bandage around his hoof, and his quiet dignity as he told stories of the battles fought for our freedom.
This newfound freedom brought a sigh of relief throughout our kingdom. Yet, the shadow of English control still loomed, casting its ominous figure over our lives. War and fear of another war kept us close, even though our fields stretched wide and the air was clean and crisp.
For myself, 1307 brought a shift. I began training for heavier work, learning to pull the plough, the cart, and even the occasional wagon for long journeys. I must say, it is a different type of pride. The wind against my flanks, the feel of the weight and pull on the harness, and the feeling of partnership with my master as we toiled together – it filled me with an unmatched sense of purpose.
As you can imagine, my days are quite structured. Sunrise finds me already munching on the lush, green grass, a feast prepared for us in the hayfield. The cool morning air awakens the muscles in my legs, prepping me for the day’s tasks. I can hear the farmhands’ whistles and see their strong hands ready to hitch us up to their wagons. I work hard, of course, but not too hard. We're horses, and we have a sense of pacing that the humans just don't get. They’re a lot harder on themselves.
Each day, I see other horses from Hayfield working diligently. Some pulling ploughs, their strong necks straining against the tough earth as they prepare the ground for sowing crops. Others haul goods to market in Aberdeenshire, a lively town filled with the sounds of barter, trade, and the call of seagulls, which always remind me of the ocean’s salty breeze.
My work takes me across the Highlands, through beautiful valleys dotted with sturdy farmhouses and quaint hamlets. Often, I pull a large wagon filled with produce from our fertile fields: plump barley for beer, healthy carrots for soups and stews, and bags of oat flour for nourishing bread – food to sustain our villages.
Occasionally, I also pull the farmer’s wagon to Aberdeen, bustling with people going about their daily lives. The cobbled streets reverberate with the sounds of horses’ hooves, carts laden with merchandise, and the voices of merchants. You can smell the salty sea, and it mingles with the tang of fish and spices coming from the market stalls. These excursions are a great treat for a farm horse, although it can get crowded and there are a lot of smelly carts!
Life isn't always a rosy pasture, mind you. There’s the ever-present threat of sickness. One chilling winter, an epidemic ravaged the horse population of the entire county. A cough here, a limp there, but in the end, death found many a poor soul, leaving emptiness in their stables. Those dark times tested our strength and resilience. Thankfully, we have learned to cope and protect one another. We now diligently keep our bodies strong, stay alert for signs of sickness, and tend to the wounded, whether a torn bridle or a nasty bite.
Sometimes, we horses get injured as well. I recall the day I got caught in a freak storm. Rain lashed the hills, making the ground treacherous and visibility close to nil. I lost my footing and tumbled into a muddy ditch, leaving me with a twisted leg and a cut on my chest. The humans did their best to care for me – warm mash, bandages, and lots of gentle rubs. My injuries took time to heal, but with rest and a little love, I was back on my feet.
Yes, my dear equine readers, I see the world from a very different vantage point. I see the lives of human and horse intertwine in ways both beautiful and challenging. We toil in the fields, our hooves digging furrows, pulling burdens that provide for a community. Our sweat and effort create the foundation upon which so much of human life depends. I cannot deny that some humans are quick to forget that their food and comforts rely on us. Their pride in the beautiful horses is all well and good, but they don't always understand that a kind hand, a soothing touch, and a well-fed belly go much further than a fancy blanket or an ostentatious saddle.
But let me not dwell on the negativity.
There’s much more to this life than toil. I feel the camaraderie among us horses – a deep understanding that runs far deeper than words. In the fields, I stand side by side with other draught horses, each pulling our part of the load, but always working as a unit. Our movements, coordinated and instinctive, create a seamless harmony that echoes through the land.
Our connection with the humans is one of partnership, too, I’d like to think. A good human recognizes our worth and sees us as partners, not as slaves or possessions. Their gratitude shines through in their kind hands, the way they respect our strengths and limitations, and the way they nurture our physical and emotional needs.
There is beauty in this partnership, and a simple yet profound rhythm in our shared lives. It is through this rhythm, this cycle of work, rest, and mutual dependence that our connection with the humans finds its purpose and meaning.
For I, Emma the grey draught mare, have a deep and abiding love for this world – for the fresh air, the sweet smell of wildflowers, and the endless expanse of green fields that spread across the Highland landscape. And though I'm just a simple horse, my life, my experiences, hold a reflection of the history of 1307 – a time of struggle, but also a time of enduring resilience, loyalty, and love.
Join me, dear equine friends, as we delve into the fascinating history of horses throughout the centuries. Follow my stories, share your own experiences, and together let us celebrate the bond between horse and human.
And now, I must go. The farmer's wife calls for me. It’s time for another wagon load of grain to the village market, where the smell of freshly baked bread and the cries of children fill the air. I hear the distant caw of a crow overhead and the lowing of a herd of cows across the meadow. Life is a tapestry of scents, sounds, and sensations, and I am grateful to be a part of it all.
Until next time, stay safe, my friends!
Emma
Hayfield, Scotland
Equiworld.org
