There’s a forest past my house where I walk to clear my head. One afternoon, feeling bored of my usual trail, I went right instead of left, having nothing planned and looking for adventure. I was rewarded by something unexpected. Stone walls dot the New England forests where I live; we have several on our property. However, this one was shaped like a box—why? A few Google searches later, I discovered my box was the moss-covered remains of an old house. Loving stories, I was intrigued by this house in the woods. Who had lived there? Why was it abandoned? And why was it built in a forest? Many of these questions resisted answers, but I learned that my house belonged to farmers who lived here when my forest was grass and fields, over a century ago. I learned they persisted despite wheat blight, harsh frosts, and rocky soil. I learned they lived in a time of tremendous change, when America's awareness of the world was opening ever-wider. I wonder if they felt as overwhelmed by change as I feel now. This abandoned house in my woods was a first glimpse into history as personal, immediate, and dynamic. Not lists of wars and leaders, the dispassionate march of dates and statistics. This history was the story of people, real human beings who lived in, and were shaped by, the past. I felt the past come alive, and couldn’t get enough of it. I brought home books, watched videos, and visited museums. My parents attempted answers to my increasingly complex questions. My middle school librarians helped me find books. My teachers encouraged me to take in-depth courses and answered my near-endless questions. By high school, this hunger for knowledge was inextricably part of me. I wanted to follow my answers to new questions, to know more than simple facts to see the full picture. Thus, I began a junior internship at a museum that first hooked me. This time, I would be part of the story. Old Sturbridge Village is a living history museum. Instead of keeping artifacts behind glass with plaques and labels, the Village displays an entire town with costumed interpreters modeling life in the 1830s. Volunteering as a summer interpreter, I learned first-hand the “whys” behind how things were done. I experienced how puff sleeves keep you cool in summer, why metal pails replaced wooden ones, how housewives made food last without a fridge, and much more. And as I learned, I shared my knowledge during hundreds of conversations with visitors. Curious people who watched me fashion a wall sconce while I explained how door-to-door merchants and tin smiths turned the barter system into what would become the first stock market. We talked about who my guests would have been 200 years ago, how they would have lived differently, but mostly how they would be the same. I loved watching them point to some tool behind the hearth—“Look! We have one of those at home!”—realizing that people have always been people. I loved making history real to them, just as it became real to me back in my forest. Now, beginning college, I’m excited for what's to come. I can’t wait to learn more and share my knowledge with the world. I still feel the curiosity I found in my woods, that excitement that pushed me to learn more, and the joy of giving back to people around me. As I begin college and ultimately become an archivist, I know my passion will carry me forward, just like it already has.