Some kids become part of a camp’s story. Not because they are the loudest. Not because they win the most awards or score the most points. Sometimes they need a little more time to find their place.
Kesin Dixit was one of those kids.
Yesterday morning, Ann and I received heartbreaking news from Kesin’s parents, Swapna and Piyush. While their family was traveling together in the Netherlands, Kesin became suddenly and seriously ill. Tragically, he passed away on August 15 at the age of 17. He was far too young. We are heartbroken for Swapna, Piyush, his sister Leela, and everyone who knew and loved him.
Kesin was supposed to begin at Chestnut Lake in 2020, the summer camp never opened because of COVID. Instead, he and Leela arrived for the first time in 2021.
We remember those early summers well, as Ann and I arrived at a new place during a challenging time, with hundreds of kids anxious to resume their interrupted plans for a great (and much-deserved) summer.
Kesin was so sweet, with an unmistakable smile. Like many first-time campers, things did not always come easily for him. There were times when camp was hard, and I (and others) found myself looking out for him. I wanted to make sure I saw him, said hello, gave him a high five or a fist bump, and let him know that we were paying attention.
And no matter the bumps along the road, Kesin quickly started to find his stride, and he (and Leela) kept coming back. Over time, lots of important things happened. He made friends. He grew more comfortable. He pushed himself. He learned how to navigate relationships and how to be part of a group. Other kids got to know him better and appreciated him for exactly who he was.
What never needed developing was his goodness. Kesin was just so incredibly kind. He cared about people. He cared about fairness. He cared when somebody was not being treated well. He wanted to do the right thing. He was never interested in making somebody else feel smaller so that he could feel bigger. There was not a mean bone in that kid’s body.
And over the years, something else became unmistakably clear.
Kesin loved Chestnut Lake.
He cared about all of it. Tribal. Activities. Traditions. His friends. His counselors. The big moments and the completely ordinary camp days. This place mattered to him.
Last summer, Kesin returned as one of eight boys in our Leadership Training (LT) program. We called that first group our Trailblazers because that is exactly what they were. They took a chance on an experience that was still being built and helped us establish what an 11th-grade summer at Chestnut Lake could become. Kesin was all in.
That summer felt like the culmination of so much of his growth. The kid I once felt like I needed to look out for was now standing in front of camp as a leader. He belonged with those seven other boys (and their three dedicated staff), and they belonged with him. They supported one another, pushed one another, laughed together, and became an exceptional group. Ann and I — and many others — were incredibly proud of him.
And the truth is, we kept thinking about Kesin long after last summer ended. When we meet prospective families and try to explain what we believe camp can do for kids, he is one of the children we think about. Sometimes we tell his story. Because Kesin was proof. Proof that not every kid arrives and immediately finds their people. Proof that confidence can take time. Proof that belonging can take time. Proof that kids can struggle, grow, return, try again, and eventually become some of the strongest representatives of the community they once had to find their place in. Sometimes the kid you once thought you needed to look out for becomes someone you look up to. That was Kesin.
And if you want to understand how much Chestnut Lake still meant to him, there is one small story that says almost everything.
About a month ago, as we were moving through our 2026 season’s First Session, we held our annual pre-trip Zoom meetings for families in Varsity-1, Varsity-2, and LT. We reviewed itineraries, logistics, travel details, and answered questions as the trip departures fast approached. Leela was in her Varsity-2 summer, so the Dixit family joined the call.
And there was Kesin.
Right there on camera. He was not coming to camp this summer. He had already finished his camper years and was preparing for his last year in high school, busy with lots of things at home. He did not need to be on that call. But he was. Listening. Smiling. Supporting his sister. Soaking up just a little bit more Chestnut Lake. As anyone who was on that call, or watched the recording later, would know, he was fully there. Somehow, that feels exactly right. Even when he was not here, a part of him still was.
That is what makes this loss so difficult.
There should have been more summers. More reunions. More chances for him to come back and visit. Maybe, someday, a return wearing a staff shirt instead of a camper one. We should have had the chance to see what came next.
Instead, we are left with the summers we had with him and the memories that live inside them. And we are left wishing we had told him more. I wish I had told him once again how proud we were of him. I wish I had told him how often Ann and I talked about him. I wish I had told him that when we tried to explain to people why we believe so 
deeply in camp, his name sometimes came up. I wish I had told him that his story mattered to us. Most of all, I wish I had told him that Chestnut Lake was better because he was part of it. Maybe he knew some of that. I hope he did.
There will be a time to think about how we will remember and honor Kesin at Chestnut Lake. Ann and I have already begun thinking about that, and when the time is right, we will do so together with Swapna, Piyush, and Leela. For now, we simply want to remember him. A really good kid who grew into a wonderful young man. A camper who found his place. A Trailblazer. A leader. A friend. Someone who loved Chestnut Lake very much. And someone who was very deeply loved here in return. We were so lucky to watch him grow.
We only wish we could have watched for so much longer.
— Aaron & Ann