I was going to write a scathing column about embryonic stem cell research as a follow up to my piece on snowflake babies. At 8 p.m. I had a bit of research done, and two paragraphs written. So I decided to take a break, make some tea, Facebook spy on my brother — that sort of thing.

Soon, I was enjoying molten chocolate cake with some friends, and the column had been abandoned.

I, being the nerd that I am, spent the weekend hanging out with my sisters and digging around in the woods near our house. Despite spending entire summers in the woods as a kid, the coolest thing I ever discovered was a pocket watch and some pottery shards. Yet Saturday, my little sisters managed to unearth a 70-year-old tricycle, several milk jars, a crusty old boot, two tables and a pumpkin. The pumpkin was disgusting, but hey, they were excited.

I’m no archaeologist, but there’s something exhilarating about lugging a shovel around and digging up remnants of the past. Some little boy or girl must have loved that bike all those years ago. And this got me wondering just what else might lie under the moss and brambles of those woods, and how it came to be there. I know Ames isn’t exactly known for its former ancient civilizations, but a surprising amount of local knowledge can be gained just by exploring a nearby ravine or park.

Maybe I’m giddy from all this refreshing spring air, but I’ve been feeling very “Into the Wild“-ish lately. Which I suggest you watch and/or read sometime, if you haven’t already. I’m sure every kid went through that “My Side of the Mountain” stage, where you dream of filling a backpack with canned pork and beans, grabbing a walking stick, and marching off into the great unknown to survive on mushrooms, berries and the labor of your hands.

I even practiced wielding a bow and arrow one summer, but in my enthusiasm, I shot the hell out of those arrows and never saw them again. I checked out survival guides from the library and slept with a pocket knife under my pillow; in hindsight, I’m not sure why.

I planted a garden and lugged a sledgehammer over to my grandpa’s maple tree to harvest maple syrup. It didn’t work. My sister and I dedicated a whole two weeks to teaching ourselves the art of karate plus quarterstaff fighting plus pole vaulting.

In short, growing up in the country was the best part of being a kid; although I suppose my measly social skills are a direct result. But I digress.

With the end of the semester fast approaching, and that smell of dirt and grass and rain in the air, I guess you could say I’m feeling a bit nostalgic about all those summers spent running wild. I know I can’t be the only one to have loved Gary Paulsen’s works, “The Swiss Family Robinson” or the “Tarzan” series.

Maybe I was a nerd, but I sure had fun being one. Being a nerd is good for the soul. And so is molten chocolate cake. So go ahead and indulge yourselves. It’s worth it in the end.