A wicked wonderland was an idea I know I only could have gotten from summer camp.  Every year, I begged my parents not to send me back and every summer, I went.  The first summer I only went for two weeks and every summer after my time spent in remote Texas significantly increased.  Somehow it became my savior even when I was least expecting it.  And at a time when I needed it most. 

During the school year, I kept myself busy enough to not be too interested in social media and I spent the summer in a rustic cabin with no wifi.  As the long summers piled up, so did my interest in the natural world.  The school year kept me longing for the open skies, bubbling creeks and falling to sleep to the crickets instead of the hum of cars. 

The summer before I turned sixteen, I found out the true meaning of wicked wonderland.  That was the summer I met Willow and the summer the camp almost lost everything they’d built.  She brought with a significant amount of baggage no one was even aware of.  Not even her parents.  By the end of her second week, one counselor had already quit and by the end of her third week the lawyers were there to gather information for her lawsuit.  I knew what she was trying to do and why and there was no way in hell I was going to let her get away with it. 


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