Well, you reminded me of Hartman Reserve again! It was the perfect place to be when camp was not in session. I used to roam those grounds for hours, playing cowboys and Indians, and later just hiking around by myself. And then when we were in high school, the hall rentals on that "sacred ground" for parties by our class! (It almost seemed like a sacrilege, considering how it was my refuge!) I remember one time when parents were bringing kids for camp, so we had to turn around and head home instead of into the reserve. Someone, I think it was Malcom Renz, got the bright idea that we should pretend that we were all wiped out by a speeding car on its way to the camp. We draped ourselves over rocks in many dramatic and tragic poses when we heard another car coming. All we got for our efforts was a big laugh coming out of the car!

I also remember Raleigh Buckmaster having a broken arm or leg every year in grade school. And how everyone teased us mercilessly during our brief "best friendship" one year. I was heartbroken, because he was the funnest friend I had. However, had it continued, I probably would have ended up with as many broken bones as he did!

Then there was the year that I had the biggest crush on Kirk Fry. Part of that was that I thought his dad was the greatest, so I loved going over to their house when his dad was home. I was so flattered (5th grade--6th grade maybe) when I thought he noticed me, and we started walking home from school together. I had a wonderful rush of love fulfilled until I found out he was more interested in my new microscope set than he was in me! He invited someone else to meet him at Cindy Hansen's birthday party! It sent me back to the drawing board on the mystery of boys.

And then there was when my mom wouldn't let me watch that diabolically immoral Dick Clark's American Bandstand. Mom couldn't understand why I wanted to go over to Diane Barnard's house every day after school "to study" until she called there one day to say she was coming to pick me up, and Diane's mom said, "Sure--I'll go get her. She and Diane are watching Bandstand." Oops!

Now that our beloved 'playground’, Hartman Reserve, is all controlled and citified, I have the same 'sacrilege' feeling. It was our home...our stomping grounds...and now you have to stay on the trails, not touch anything, or drag any treasure home, like a pollywog or jack-in-the-pulpit. Sometimes I rebel, and just go tearing over forbidden ground off the designated path like a wild thing. Makes me feel really GOOD!

We had great times there. Like the time my ingenious brother, Fred, built himself a 'submarine' out of some old green gas tank, and decided to try it out in a dammed up part of the Hartman stream. He told us to watch him carefully as he took his maiden voyage. He set sail, sank, and nothing happened as far as we could tell, except a few bubbles rising to the surface. We got bored and started playing around...and eventually he came thrashing to the surface, coughing, very wet and nearly drowned. Boy, was he mad at us!

We also had a beloved 'mine' under a huge rock by the same stream. We would haul our mining shovels, canteens, pick-axes, lunch boxes and other paraphernalia down to our mine and work all day like a chain gang! Once we found a large Indian hammerhead that should be in a museum, but which is coveted by one of my brothers still, I am sure.

I still take walks there sometimes...and am sure I can hear the laughter of all of us playing among the trees...what an enchanted back yard we had in which to frolic our summers away! How I hated to see it end, and to be dragged inside and back to school...