My memories of summers at H-Bar-G, during the years that the Livingston family offered up their wonderful property as a camp for girls, are so many and so meaningful that I have been at work on a group of short stories about them for several years now. They start with the overnight on the Burlington Zephyr from Chicago and haven't ended yet. I often drive up from my home in Denver, follow the road we rumbled in camp bus and Annie’s VW, and gaze over the fence, remembering. Nothing else in my life feels quite as real as being there, ready to pull on the rope that opens the gate. You all remember - I know you do.
H-Bar-G was, is, and I suspect always will be the true home in my heart. Perhaps, now that I have found this site, I will include snipets from the stories as I work on them. Anyone who was there during that time, or even after - for skeptical as I am in general, I cannot help but believe that H-Bar-G is one of those places that holds onto the spirits of those who have been fortunate enough to live there, so our love reaches deeper and farther than the brief moments we were there - may, please, comment on what I write or just get in touch with me. My understanding of nature and love and connection to the world derive from my blissful youth in that place that Lou and Anne and countless others before and since shared with me. Lucky we were, and I would love to hear from you.
Above all, I thank the Livingstons for giving me the gift of horses from Sombrero, freedom in the mountains, Vespers on Sunday, sticky buns and egg-in-the-hole, and my first and deepest love. Home is where you find it.
- Patsy Nathanson Hunt