The magic of a "free range" country childhood.

About 500 metres up the dirt lane running alongside our vineyard, you'll find a small outcrop of wild acacia trees (golden wattle) growing on the side of the road. The trees are gnarled and light on foliage - a consequence of ten years of drought. A small man-made gully runs through the trees to direct water on the rare occasion it does rain. The ground is rough and rocky - the odd sheep's skull and old tyre lies tossed among the stinging nettle and other weeds.
It's nothing special, but to our children and their friends, this is a magical place known as "The Village". The gully has been christened "Creek Angus" by Angus the Autocrat, much to Ella's displeasure. (I fear revolution is unavoidable!) This is their land. It is a place they come and play without adults hovering over them, directing them, scolding them, cramping their style. Over the past twelve months they have created individual houses decorated with weeds, rocks and bones. They have developed infrastructure - pathways, a town square and even a dog kennel for Max. Many picnic lunches have been packed and taken up to The Village, along with work tools and additional building materials such as off-cuts of wood, empty plastic bottles, rope and cardboard boxes. Angus has a pen knife which he has been taught to use responsibly.

It's The Secret Seven meets Lord of the Flies

The children have been known to play up at The Village for hours only to come home at dusk. Just like my suburban childhood in the 70s - "come home when it gets dark", my mother used to say. These days only "irresponsible parents" would let a child "roam the streets" all day. It's a wonder children today have any skills at all by the time they leave home! Perhaps they don't?
Some over-protective parents may not like the idea of children playing, out of sight, in an outcrop of trees on the side of a road. There is potential for danger. The road is hardly used - but it only takes one farmer whizzing by in his ute, not expecting a child to jump out from the bushes, for tragedy to occur. On the other hand, it would be a tragedy of another kind if the children did not have this incredible place in which adventures are had, skills are forged and lifelong memories made.
So we have put a few rules and safety measures in place. Firstly, a few bikes are left in clear sight by the side of the road so that anyone in a car or ute will know there are children about. Secondly, no young children without road sense are allowed up to The Village. And thirdly, no running out from the trees on to the road under any circumstances. Just because only one car goes past a day is no need to become complacent about road rules. The children are keenly aware that if anyone is caught breaking the rules or being silly near the road, they will all suffer the consequences and no-one will be allowed to play in The Village - so they self monitor.
I still worry, and take the occasional stroll up to The Village to keep an eye on them (much to their annoyance). But we have made the decision that The Village is an experience to cherish. We are very lucky - we can do this living in the country. We can safely give our children more freedom than we could (or would) if we lived in the city. But perhaps we need to find ways to give our city children more scope and independence as well?
I love New Yorker Lenore Skenazy's blog (and book) http://www.freerangekids.wordpress.com/ - "how to raise safe, self-reliant children..without going nuts with worry!"