But as the couple’s love grew, their families grew close again, too. (Mr. Lindgren’s mother, Edna, said of Ms. Newman’s mother, Kay: “She was one of the first people I met when we bought the farm.” Mr. Schmidt was the first grandchild for both of them. “You can’t forget that,” she said.)

The couple moved in together, and on Dec. 12, 2015, exactly one year after that fateful first text message, Mr. Lindgren proposed. She protested at first. They had both been married multiple times, and she felt it was unnecessary when they knew how they felt about each other. “I told him, ‘We’re old. We don’t need this,’” she said.

But he insisted. “I want to marry my sweetheart,” he told her.

On the first Saturday in August, he did. The wedding was a casual backyard affair, hosted at the couple’s home, a white house nestled between cornfields in Marshfield, Wis.

The events of the day were held somewhat in reverse: First, there was a party, followed by dinner, and at sunset, a quick ceremony.

About 100 guests, including Mr. Schmidt’s wife, Carin, and their children, Malcolm, 3, and Willow, 1, mingled about. Strings of icicle lights were hung from the edges of white tents, and tables were set with Mason jars filled with flowers from the bride’s garden. Instead of a D.J. there was a box of CDs. A sleepy yellow lab named Summer snoozed under the buffet table. Several guests had parked campers and pitched tents in the yard so they wouldn’t have to drive home later.

Steely gray clouds and gusty winds threatened rain all afternoon, but the weather held until right before the ceremony. A brief but intense downpour around 7:15 p.m. sent several guests out into the yard to save the huppah. Ms. Newman, who was raised Roman Catholic but converted to Judaism when she married her second husband, had fashioned it out of tall branches and a lace tablecloth from her grandmother.