Treasured Gifts, Memories and Lessons Learned

Christy Doherty

50plus Magazine

 

 

Years ago, I installed glass-door cabinets in my beautiful kitchen — not for china or stemware, but to display pretties. Impractical? Perhaps. But everything I see there brings joy to my day. Some items I collected; others were gifts. The shelves hold Waterford, vintage pottery, Depression glass, the list goes on.

 

Oh, and a bird’s nest.

 

Why keep a fragile little forty-year-old bird’s nest? Well, there’s magic in it. The magic of memories, and the reminder of consequences.

 

Looking back across the decades, I remember the day the nest came home. Looking for a respite from a migraine, I took my meds and drove to the barn where my Arabian mare Materra was stabled. The beautiful spring afternoon whispered “trail ride.”

 

Diminutive rose-gray Materra set an easy pace, which was perfect. High-adventure ground-gobbling gallops were best for another time.

 

The medication was kicking in, but along with the relief came some lightheadedness. Not a problem for the short ride ahead. Materra moved along easily.

 

As I started feeling a little loopy, she dawdled. No, she wasn’t stopping to snack; this was all about pace. Materra always seemed to sense how I was feeling and adapt her “way of going” accordingly.

I started to giggle. She flicked her ears. It was like we were both just enjoying being out there with zero expectations except enjoying the day.

 

Our horse trails were deer trails we had widened, winding safely through all sorts of lovely scenery here in our corner of NW Oregon. On a stretch through a meadow, Materra abruptly stopped. I urged her forward, but no. She stood and stared. I urged her again; nope.

 

Well, this was a first.

 

I dismounted and stood beside her, trying to follow her gaze to see what she was so intent on.

 

There it was. A little abandoned bird’s nest in a small tree. I led her to it, carefully took it down and set it gently in the top of my gear bag.

 

Once I settled back in the saddle, she was happy to move along. It had been all about the bird’s nest.

 

That little nest, my memories and a handful of photos are all I have left of Materra.

 

 

They say hindsight is 20/20. I can tell you that a few short years after that special day, I made what seemed like a sound business decision but turned out to be a horrible heart choice with the single stroke of a pen. I went all-in in the Arabian breeding business.

 

Materra could not be bred, so I sold my best equine friend. I can still hear her calling from the horse trailer as it carried her down the driveway.

 

I tried to find her in later years, hoping to give her a comfy retirement. The people who bought her violated their contractual promise to offer her back to me before selling or giving her away.

 

All I found were dead ends.

 

Materra, I’m so, so sorry. I thought the fields of eastern Oregon would be so much better for you, and
I hope they ultimately were. I can honestly say, raising a national champion was not better for me than having your companionship.

 

I never took another ride that measured up to ours. I never had another horse dance or play with me. Nobody else bucked me over underground bees like you, baby girl, or pitched me on my head like you did when you were green — or cared for me when I had a migraine the way you did.

 

You were my once in a lifetime horse.

 

So, now at 65, I look into the lovely glassed-in kitchen cabinet and feel the love (and loss) in the little bird’s nest.

 

I love you, Materra, and I miss you. I guess I always will.

 

Thank you for the love and the friendship — and the little bird’s nest. I’ve never found another one, or another you.