My mom slathered a third layer of sunscreen on my already pink arms and hugged me one last time in front of my new home for the next month, a cabin aptly named Chatterbox. Another girl my height dashed out of the front door of the cabin and across the gravel road in front of us toward the commissary, and before the screen door could slam behind her, the roar of unruly 10 year old girls giggling and shouting escaped briefly from inside. Though the first Mystic camper in my family, I was one of thousands of Texas women who had come before me to Hunt, Texas each summer since 1926- to learn how to fish, shoot a rifle and a bow and arrow,…