In the woods of Finland
You have kids? Get a farm.
Busting your butt in a high flying job, between concrete walls, deluding yourself this is for the benefit of your child? It is a sham. Sorry. A big fat sham. What is best for a child is this.
Nothing can compare with having lots of nature to run through and develop proper motor skills in. Or riding a bike absolutely free of worry around hills, climbing trees, digging holes and getting dirty.
Jenrik is four years old and watching him zoom around the farm with a maniacal speed with all sorts of small rides has been a source of delight for me since we arrived. Or when he helped Mr.Blab to turn the lawn mower, right before the much elder man managed to fall with it in a ditch.
He knows all the machinery around, walks around the barn with the confidence of a king and jumps right on his father’s lap, or a high point somewhere close, whenever he is doing/going/fixing something. He is learning every day, without trying, without pressure or stress. Life is all around him, he just needs to be awake for all the magic to happen.
I think my children are pretty clued in, worldly and capable, but in this setting it is obvious how impaired they have been by their city upbringing. In just 3 days they have managed to hurt themselves more than I am willing to acknowledge. Bruises lavishly decorate the legs of Little B, whose excitement of riding the bike around the woods, overshadows her ability. The Dod whines here and there in realization of how incapable he is to keep up with the blond boy.
But they are giving it a good go.
Their main diet is wild blueberries which seem to grow everywhere around here. So on top of the bruised and scratched bodies of my children sit heads with sickly blue/purple lips. I barely see them though, so I just hope they are alright, out there in the woods.
Now its time for moose meat bbq, so I better go dig some potatoes and help…watch the fire.
The City Woman