What many people saw as kids digging in the dirt for trumpet worm nests was never just a way to pass time. For us, it wasn’t a childish distraction or a sign of limited imagination—it was a small act of survival wrapped in curiosity. Growing up with very little meant learning to find wonder in places others overlooked. While some children stayed indoors with bright screens and toys that responded to the push of a button, we wandered through backyards and empty lots, searching for tiny miracles beneath the soil.

Every nest we uncovered felt like discovering treasure crafted specifically for us. At the time, we didn’t understand how these simple routines were shaping the foundation of who we would become. Without store-bought entertainment or shelves lined with new gadgets, the world itself became our playground. We grew up in homes where “new” was rare, where games were shared only when someone else had them, and where imagination quietly evolved into our richest resource.

The earth, the trees, and the muddy corners after a summer rain became our shared universe—limitless and alive. Trumpet worm nests were our proof that magic could be found anywhere if you looked closely enough. We weren’t just digging for creatures; we were digging for wonder, for joy, for something that belonged to us. We encouraged each other, celebrated small discoveries, and learned how curiosity could turn an ordinary afternoon into something unforgettable.

Years later, adulthood brings its own storms, but the memories remain just as bright. We remember sunburned shoulders, muddy hands, and the kind of laughter that pushed every worry aside. Those childhood moments—simple, messy, perfect—continue to remind us that beauty often hides in small places, and strength grows quietly from the simplest joys.