As I write this, I hear helicopters continuing searches. I don’t want to believe the extent of the tragedy in our community, especially the camping community.

Bubble Inn was my first cabin in the 1980s at Camp Mystic. I couldn’t wait to be like my sister and go to camp for six weeks. (Yes, now it is four, because summer break got shorter.) It meant independence and trying new things like horseback riding. I never imagined the lifelong impact and relationships of camp.

(1) comment

James Turman

Beautiful isn't a sufficient word for the essay put forth here. I can't imagine the sheer strength the author had to muster just to write this-- even in the face of an ongoing tragedy of massive proportion in her community, one that will leave generational scars no doubt. Putting this aside she gave us all from her personal experience a picture of a selfless and loving man many like myself will never have the pleasure of getting to meet. But "greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends"... so Mr. Eastland died a hero, sounds like he was a friend to many, and was surely fortunate to have made a friend like this essayist. Perfectly said.

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