Time marches on and days at Arlington Hall came to a close. Mom pushed on into a new chapter of life, her twenties, which brought marriage and family. Horses were placed on hold or rather part-time, at least for awhile.
Before the time my twin and I could remember (we are the youngest in the family), Mom had friends who owned horses near our home in Charlottesville, Virginia.
She went out as often as she was able and had we little twins in tow. She had discovered her next riding buddies, and we discovered our passion. Our training began early. We would take turns riding with her in the ring. The old horse was our teacher. Mom was teacher to the younger, more energetic horse. That horse felt huge to us as we sat astride him. Mom would laugh and urge us on.
A frightening memory still holds a place for us. We were watching Mom excercise her horse over jumps in the outdoor ring, when the horse went into a bucking spree. Mom flew off into the air and met with a hard thump on the ground. She lay still. Running towards her with great fear as we little twins yelled, “Mommma, Momma!” She pushed herself up from the ground and stood up. To our great relief, she was alright. She told us later that she thought herself back at Arlington Hall. It was our yelling “Momma” that shook her reverie.