One way to visualize the history of the fledgling Carolina Horse Park in its first few years is to understand what it did not have.
There were no broad tracks through the fairly dense woods. There were no cross-country jumps at any level. There were no dressage rings. There wasn’t a show jumping arena. There was no stabling. There were no buildings of any sort except a run-down house on the edge of Montrose Road. There were no warm-up rings. There were no bathrooms. In short, there was nothing out there except a big, fairly level tract of land, a blank slate, divided into two pieces by a lightly traveled Montrose Road.
But that blank slate turned out to be a blessing in disguise. We didn’t have anything to undo, nor any buildings or roads that forced us to work around them. Everything that would come later could be built with intention.
Someone other than I will have to provide the details of who did what and when, because I wasn’t deeply involved with the land planning itself. What I do remember, though, stretches back even further than the founding of the Park.
When I first spent time in Southern Pines way back in 1964, visiting my friend Mac Williamson—who had a few timber horses in training with Chin Dufort up on Connecticut, where Bill Long kept his driving horses—there were little horse shows all over the place on individual farms. It was a lively and deeply horse-centered community.
Mrs. Ginnie Moss was a major inspiration behind so much of that activity. She was a true driving force of nature, and her enthusiasm inspired others to become more deeply involved in all sorts of horse activities—foxhunting, driving, eventing, and more. Her influence could be felt everywhere.
By the time we purchased land in 1989, some of that tradition was still alive, but things were changing. Real estate values were starting to climb, and land parcels were becoming smaller and smaller. Farms that once hosted competitions were being divided, sold, or repurposed.
Having a Carolina Horse Park was all well and good as an idea, but the challenge was convincing members of the horse community that it was worth driving twenty miles to ride and compete, instead of simply hacking down the road to a nearby farm.
They say necessity is the mother of invention, and the area needed a dependable, permanent competition site. I think it was that shared understanding—support the Park, or see competition opportunities gradually disappear—that inspired many people to get behind the venture.
So year by year, one piece at a time, individuals stepped forward to help shape the property.
One early improvement was the grandstand near Horace Walters Road. That project was built on the hope that a race meet might draw large spring crowds, much like the historic Stoneybrook races once had. I’m not entirely sure why that idea never fully took hold, but the grandstand remained as an early symbol of ambition and possibility.
It also proved to be a wise decision to cluster most of the infrastructure around the original house on the Montrose Road side of the property. Doing so preserved that enormous stretch of open land across the road—leaving it largely untouched by permanent development, parking lots, or anything else that might detract from the wide-open spaces where horses could gallop and jump freely.
That open space remains one of the Park’s greatest strengths.
Even in those early days, it was clear that the Park’s future would involve more than simply hosting three-day events. There were conversations about broadening the scope—about welcoming more disciplines, more riders, and more members of the community.
As I understand it, that challenge—to grow thoughtfully while conserving the land and the traditions that inspired it—is still very much ongoing today.
And perhaps that is the real story of the Carolina Horse Park: not just what was built, but what was imagined, protected, and patiently developed—one careful step at a time.