Then, we met in a parking lot. We met on a hayride. We met on a bridge. We met at our home away from home -- camp.
Now, we meet for margaritas, trashy tv, shared tears, and healing laughter. We meet when we can which is never often enough.
Then, we taught fishing and archery and how to paddle a canoe.
Now, I teach children to read and write. You teach them to speak. But we both know where the roots of our teaching reside -- Shannah's Lagoon.
Then, we organized cook-outs and all-camps and kitchen raids.
Now, we just try to organize ourselves.
Then, we rode in the backs of pickup trucks.
Now, well, now we still ride in the backs of pickup trucks.
Then, our friendship was built upon painted rocks, daisy chains, and campfire smoke.
Now, our friendship stands upon touchstone memories, new adventures, and half a life of inside jokes.
Then, we were young and stupid and idealistic.
Now, we are young at heart, a little bit wiser and gripping tight our idealism, still.
Then, we raised hundreds of campers to become pretty fantastic adults.
Now, you're raising a cabin of your own, teaching them to be kind and generous and to sing silly songs.
Then and now. Now and then.
Our lives have become a timeline, tied together and marked by celebration and sadness and all of the absurdities in between.
It is full of cold beer and warm sunsets, rocking chairs and porch swings.
It is guitar strums and off-key show tunes, sappy movies, snorts, swears, and aimless stories.
It is full of debate, forgiveness, long talks, and unconditional love.
Then, I thought we might be friends for a while.
Now, I realize how wrong I was. A lifetime won't be long enough.
I love you, my WoHeLo sister, my compass, my cheerleader, my best life friend.
Then, now, always.
Happy Birthday, Court.