Part 4

 It didn’t feel ordinary. I was a junior in college when a friend encouraged me to be a camp counselor. Eager for adventure, I applied everywhere I could think of. That summer, I landed at a small nature camp in Wisconsin—1,300 miles from home.

I arrived later than everyone else, missing the early bonding activities because of my brother’s graduation. Driving solo across four states to get there before the rest of the group, I felt both excitement and apprehension. Walking into a close-knit group that had already spent a week together was intimidating—especially for someone as naturally reserved as I was.

I knew summer romances were common at camp. A friend had warned me that counselors often found themselves drawn together in the unique bubble of camp life. When you spend an entire summer in close quarters, sharing experiences and making memories, it’s almost inevitable that connections will form.

At the time, he lacked direction. His uncle, hoping to push him toward something meaningful, encouraged him to take the camp job for the summer. The owner was a family friend, and it seemed like an easy escape. For me, it was different. I was chasing adventure.

That decision changed everything. I stepped into a world of towering trees, endless lakes, and a newfound sense of independence. Campfires, late-night talks under the stars, and children's laughter—it was a place where anything felt possible.

I noticed him right away. He was the first to say hello, to ask my name and where I was from. And in that simple moment, our story began. He wasn’t quiet. If anything, he was the opposite of me—loud, outspoken, always quick with a joke or an opinion. He was a charmer, the kind of person everyone gravitated toward. People liked him instantly—campers, counselors, even the camp director. He could make anyone laugh, fill any silence, and somehow always knew the right thing to say. He was from a big city—Chicago—while I was from rural Idaho. Our lives had been completely different, yet somehow, our paths converged.

It didn’t take long for our group to form—a tight-knit circle of counselors who spent nearly every free moment together, hiking, swimming, and sneaking extra marshmallows from the campfire stash. Many of us paired off naturally, summer romances unfolding under the glow of firelight and the hum of cicadas. But there was another girl who was interested in him, and everyone knew it.

I wasn’t the type to fight for someone’s attention—I never had been. But he seemed to only have eyes for me.

The camp itself was its own little world, tucked away in the forests of northern Wisconsin. It sat right on the edge of a vast, glassy lake, where we spent afternoons canoeing beneath the open sky. Days were filled with archery, hiking, and the clang of the mess hall bell calling us to meals. Evenings brought the glow of campfires, the laughter of skits, and the quiet reflection of vespers under a sky bursting with stars. The first session welcomed campers who had never been there before, wide-eyed and eager for adventure. Then came the longer sessions—three weeks each—reserved for returning campers who knew the songs, the trails, and the traditions by heart.

Time moved differently here. Without cell phones or the internet, the outside world faded, leaving only the present—the sounds of loons calling across the lake at dusk, the smoky scent of burning wood, and the hum of cicadas in the thick summer air. The camp had its own rhythm: early mornings when the bell clanged through the trees, waking us before the sun had fully risen, and late nights when embers from the fire burned low, long after the last ghost story had been told. It was a place where anything seemed possible.

Was it fate? Coincidence? Or is it just the inevitable pull of camp life? At first, I wasn’t sure what drew me to him. Was it his quiet confidence, the way he carried himself despite not knowing his path? His kindness, the way he made me feel noticed in a place where I was a stranger? Or was it simply the magic of that summer—the way time seemed to stand still?

Looking back, I wonder—were there moments I should have questioned? Subtle signs I ignored because I wanted to believe in something beautiful. Would I have made the same choice if I had known how it would all unfold?

This is where our story began. And as I reflect on those early days, I see how that beginning shaped everything that followed.