I grew up in Sherborn, Massachusetts. With a population of just over 4,000, Sherborn can be described as a Western Mass type of town that's actually only 18 miles outside of Boston.

Sherborn has a lot of trees. Every gust of wind poses the threat of knocking out a power line, and every dark shadow is guaranteed to hide a lurking deer. The forests that make up Sherborn, however, were my sanctuary growing up. They were territories waiting to be explored and mysteries waiting to be solved. They were shelters to local animals (mainly deer, squirrels, and the occasional possum) and camouflagers of the unknown. They were my escape.

I wouldn't exactly call myself an outdoorsy person. I do love being outside, especially during the beginning weeks of spring, but nowadays I spend most of my time indoors or exploring the brick and concrete of Cambridge.

When I was younger, however, I basically lived outside. My brothers and I hardly used the computer, and we only really watched TV on Saturday mornings when the cartoons were broadcasted. Lazy summer days were spent crouching beside a brook behind our house, poking at the mud for hours to uncover the microcosm that hid beneath. We truly immersed ourselves in our surroundings and appreciated our backyard for the hidden dimensions that it possessed.

I am certainly no Bear Grylls but I did garner something incredibly invaluable from my years spent exploring the forest. I learned how to be curious, to look at my surroundings and be completely engrossed and fascinated in the little things.

One of my brothers was an avid rock collector. He would scour the ground, meticulously poking and overturning the rocks to search for gems. I always saw this as a paltry task, but even his occasional quartz discovery could get me excited about our ground's hidden potential.

We also bird-watched somewhat fanatically. My brother had a book that described nearly every bird you could find in Sherborn and beyond. We would sit outside and watch our bird feeder, recording which birds visited and chasing away squirrels that were eager to steal food. I still have photo albums brimming with blurry photos of pileated woodpeckers and hummingbirds and notebooks filled with scribbled notes and drawings.

After a long day's work, we would creep back into the house, our pockets sagging with rocks and our shoes caked in mud. At night during the summer we would catch fireflies and put them in jars, watching them glow against the star-filled sky.

During my teenage years when I constantly complained about being so isolated from actual civilization, I failed to remember the childhood with which I was blessed. I didn't look around myself nearly as often as I should have because I was constantly thinking about other things. But as I immerse myself in the fast-paced world of Cambridge, I yearn for the tranquil comforts of the forest that always surrounded me growing up.

The stars don't shine as bright in the city and the birds don't sing nearly as loud. Cambridge is a great change of pace, but I will always feel like a small-town girl living in the city. Even though I'm surrounded by buildings and cars rather than trees and deer, I will always carry with me the genuine curiosity that made my childhood so amazing.

In culmination of this nostalgic ramble, I want to say thanks, Mom and Dad. Thanks for choosing to raise me in an environment that taught me more about life than I could ever learn in a classroom. Thanks for encouraging me to explore the outdoors, magnifying glass in hand, always searching for the gems that lie beneath the surface.