Camping is a weekend getaway I’ve enjoyed since I was young. The freedom of running through campsites, dodging trees and bedtime being determined by the setting sun are memories I cherish.
Now that I’m a parent, I know just how much effort goes into planning and executing a camping trip. In the days leading up, as I make copious lists of food, bedding, clothing and dishware, I inevitably wonder why I made this plan when a rented cabin would have been so much easier. For a weekend trip, we take enough food for all our meals, lots of snacks and then a few extra snacks, bedding, flashlights, camping chairs and dish buckets that make their way from the list into the back of the car.
Clothing I pack lightly, as I’m a firm believer that the same pants two days in a row around a campsite is totally acceptable. I throw a frisbee, some trucks, a bedtime story and a few sand toys into the back and I know that’s all we’ll need. Entertainment is something we’re never short on at a campsite. I don’t think I’ve ever heard the dreaded summer b-word (bored) when we have the forest as our temporary backyard.
We pull into the campsite, car doors open and the kids roll out dumping a lap full of crumbs left over from car snacks. We quickly set some boundaries, clearly outlining the big tree not to pass and the bush to stay to one side of. We give clear instructions that before any outhouse visits, you need to inform a grown-up. Gravel roads are not to be run on. Lots of nods from the kids and they’re off. They find friends in the neighbouring campsites and immediately begin building forts, sourcing branches to swing from and wooded areas to explore. As I watch them run off, I remember the “risky play” article I read and assure myself playing with sticks and getting dirt embedded in their fingernails is good for them.
As my husband and I start setting up the tent, we can see the kids choose their home base for the weekend. They run back for a piece of tarp, a rope and their beach chairs. They climb the larger rock and declare it their patio. They find logs on the forest floor for walls and use the tarp and leaves as a roof. They explore their surroundings weaving tales of predators to hide from and local berries that’ll keep them nourished. Hours later when we call them for dinner, they arrive with stories of adventure, details on fort design and very dirty t-shirts. They’ve developed a community with other kids where everyone has responsibilities and a role to play.
There are few places my children will entertain themselves with minimal equipment for such a long stretch of time. Getting them out of the house and into the woods gets their creativity flowing in ways a city park doesn’t. The natural and unstructured set up of the forest gives them creative control over their environment that indoor play places and bouncy gyms don’t offer. The unpredictable nature of the forest ensures play is constantly evolving. Limits are tested when a log is too heavy or a stick out of reach. When a branch won’t hold the tarp in place, it becomes an eagle, trying to get inside and nab precious goldfish crackers. When friends are called back to their campsite, they’re off on a quest with the promise to return with marshmallows.
Sticky sap and tear-inducing splinters become the enemies and parents are called in to wipe hands and dry tears as needed. Most of the time though, I’m fascinated by the kids’ ability to adapt and work with the available and ever-changing natural elements. Watching them trust their bodies when climbing and work together on creative solutions for tree attachments offers a different style of play than we see year-round at neighbourhood parks. The kids show cooperation and independence as they bring their games to life. There’s a freedom in the forest and a willingness to design, try and then try again that impresses me. We decline requests to take sleeping bags into the forest—a beach towel will do—and refuse the appeal for the axe, but I admire that they asked.
These long days of climbing, building, imagining and working together are memories the kids refer to throughout the year, wondering if their base will have been destroyed by snow, wind or forest creatures. Their recollections of their creations may be a bit grander and sturdier than mine, but the sense of accomplishment is warranted. Watching the kids play in the forest playground is a throwback to my own childhood and a true delight to witness, but the best part isn’t seeing the structures take form. Once marshmallows are finished, hands are wiped and stories are read, sleepy heads hit the pillow and immediately the kids are off to dreamland continuing what they started in the woods. Bedtime, after a full day of dirt and imagination, is a parent’s dream.
