NMH Magazine : Winter 2003

Time and Again

Some enchanted evening
You may see a stranger...
Across a crowded room–
"Some Enchanted Evening," lyrics by Richard Rodgers 

At a wintry campus dance in 1968, as the lights' glow cushioned the chattering crowd from the February chill, two strangers noticed each other across the room. Camilla Rockwell '68 and Tim Wick '68 had never been introduced and didn't even know each other's names, but both recognized a spark. That night Camilla asked a friend about the boy she'd seen and quietly stowed away his name. After the dance ended, she boarded the bus from Mount Hermon to Northfield, certain that her attraction remained a secret. So two days later when she received a letter from Tim asking her out, it was a true bolt out of the blue. Coincidence? Fate? It didn't matter. That spring of their senior year the aspiring doctor and the adventurous boy with the irreverent sense of humor fell head-over-heels in love. 

Cross-campus dating wasn't so easy in those days. There were chaperones; they only saw each other once a week; they hadn't much private time except what they could snatch while walking from place to place. Nevertheless, Camilla was instantly struck by her companion's sensitivity, gentleness, and humor. As Tim says, "We were infatuated. We shared an appreciation of art, beauty, nature–a big part of our relationship was walking around outside talking about literature or philosophy or our feelings." On the eve of Northfield's graduation–Tim had graduated that day–he climbed the fire escape into East Hall, Camilla's dorm, for one last chance to be together before they went their separate ways. Though she was terrified she'd be reported and kicked out just as she was about to graduate, Camilla couldn't help but admire his daring. 

They dated all through the summer, shuttling between his parents' house in Connecticut and hers in New York State, and through most of their freshman year of college–she at Mount Holyoke, he at St. Lawrence. Camilla recalls her father's strict warning as he drove her to college that fall: she was to focus on her studies and not go running off to St. Lawrence. Within three weeks, she embarked on the eight-hour bus ride to the Canton, New York, campus. 

But the man who wrote Much Ado About Nothing and A Midsummer Night's Dream also wrote Romeo and Juliet, and even today Tim and Camilla's voices strain a little as they describe their parting. 

By the spring of their freshman year, facing the seemingly infinite time apart until they graduated, Tim felt himself drifting away. "The way it ended was not great," he says. 

"It wasn't mutual," Camilla says. "I felt so committed to him, in my young and infatuated way, but in reality we were going to schools far apart and we approached college very differently. He had a wild time, and I was studious. At the same time, I felt like I'd given myself to him, heart and soul." 

For two years, Camilla hoped the relationship would somehow rekindle itself. When it didn't, she burned Tim's letters from their time at Northfield and Mount Hermon, where they'd only seen each other on Saturdays and so wrote twice a week. 

"I remember thinking, 'If there's one person I hope to see again in my life, it's him.' Your first love is–you're imprinted, like ducklings on their mother when they come out of the egg," she says. "That imprint will always be there on a cellular level from when we were first together." 

Time passed and they both moved on. Each married and launched successful careers, Tim at the Vermont Student Assistance Corporation in Burlington, which provides education aid to Vermont students, and Camilla, having left science for art, as a producer for documentarian Ken Burns's Florentine Films in Walpole, New Hampshire. 

One December day in 1988, Camilla was up to her elbows in Christmas cookie dough when the phone rang. Though her hands were smeared with butter and flour, something made her ignore the mess and answer the ring. She heard the voice on the other end and her knees went weak. It was Tim, who'd come down to nearby southern Vermont to help a friend move. And so, 20 years and two lifetimes later, they found each other again. 

Camilla was recovering from a difficult divorce, and romance to her seemed as remote as that long-ago evening dance. Nevertheless, when she learned Tim was no longer married, she had to catch her breath. Meanwhile, he'd had his run of romance. He'd only called to say merry Christmas. Really. "It was a spontaneous impulse," he says. "I just wanted to see her again." 

Camilla was immersed in her new life: learning to be a single mother, meeting the multiplying responsibilities of her job, preparing to see her two sons through their coming teenage years. But by Valentine's Day, Tim was sending her silly notes that made her laugh when she needed it most–and so began a ten-year courtship. 

They traveled the 142 miles between Burlington and Walpole at least as often as they'd written letters back and forth during the spring of 1968. With both entrenched in fulfilling but demanding jobs, and with Camilla's kids, time for each other meant renewing their commitment constantly. Three years into the courtship, Tim rented his home in Burlington, moved to Walpole, and commuted to his job for a year, tracking over 60,000 miles on his trusty Saab. 

"If I could do it all over again," he says, "I would do it without the distance. But at the same time, I think it made us better appreciate our time together." Their perseverance over ten years of long-distance romance helped him develop patience, resilience, and adaptability–qualities that had never come naturally to him. The emotional challenges were many, the most salient being Camilla's need to know the depth of Tim's commitment. But from the start, he put her fears to rest. "Coming back together, he really showed me that no matter what, he was committed, strongly enough to carry both of us through the difficult times." 

In the early years of the courtship, Camilla's older son, Galen Carr '93, attended NMH, and the couple often visited him. Once again, Camilla and Tim strolled the campus, talking about anything and everything. It felt like a homecoming. 

To celebrate the completion of the PBS documentary Thomas Jefferson, which Camilla had coproduced with Burns, she and Tim took a four-week trip out west in 1997. They hiked, mountain biked, and saw the great icons of the American landscape. By the time they returned east, they knew it was finally time to tie the knot. Only one question remained: who would move? Tim's lakeside location won out, and in 1998 Camilla moved to Burlington, where she now runs her own production company, Fuzzy Slippers Productions. 

They were married on July 1, 1999, surrounded by friends and family, on a mountaintop overlooking Lake Champlain. The guests stood in a circle and passed the wedding rings around, each offering a personal blessing to the union. On that windy, hazy day, a beam of sunlight broke through the clouds just as they kissed for the first time as husband and wife. At the bottom of the mountain, they had another brief ceremony for their nonhiking guests, and two days later they threw a big outdoor party. The invitations for the July 3 event didn't mention that a wedding had taken place, but merely said "Come celebrate independence and union." 

The vows they'd written expressed their commitment to growing together. "To see somebody again whom you remember from when you were eighteen, you first have to learn that they've had a whole life since that time," Camilla says. "You get to know who they are after they've had all this life experience." 

Both claim they're the happiest ever. They share a love for books, film, and music, and spend much of their free time hiking, kayaking, and marveling at their marriage. "It was such an unexpected gift to find each other again," Camilla says. "Finally being able to be together after all this time is like a celebration every day." 

Or, as her husband puts it, "It really is like being given a second chance."

Some enchanted evening,
When you find your true love,
When you feel her call you across a crowded room,
Then fly to her side and make her your own...
Once you have found her, never let her go. 

By Samara Rafert