Doing it for the kids
I have distinct memories of making mud pies in the backyard when I was a child, of playing endless games of chase with the family Cocker Spaniel and, for a week or two, pretending that a faint circle of sand left on the lawn after one of my dad’s building projects was the remnant of a UFO landing.
I recall barrelling up and down the driveway on a trike, picking fruit from our orange tree (up a ladder held by one of my parents), collecting sweet pea seed pods with my mum and then planting the seeds the next spring, helping out with chooks and collecting eggs, and playing in the cubby house — complete with a shady verandah and pretty picket fence — that my dad built for me and which, in later years, became a rather grand dog kennel.
My childhood, lived in a simple suburban backyard, was a place of imagination, of connecting with nature (although I didn’t know that’s what I was doing at the time) and physical play. We had TV of course, but no smartphones, tablets or video games emitting their siren call, so
