It’s easy, in reading the news accounts of the horrific drownings of so many young campers in the Hill Country floods, to miss what Camp Mystic has meant to generations of a certain kind of Texas woman, and what the loss of it will mean going forward.But maybe you had to see the place to really understand what the Stacy family, which has run the camp since 1939 (it was created thirteen years before that) had in mind early on. I’ve often thought that a lot of the Texas landscape is an acquired taste, but the area around Hunt, due west of Kerrville, has always been easy to love. The emerald-green Guadalupe is shaded by tall cypress trees, and the calls of wild birds compete…
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