My Free-Range Childhood

Before the world got smaller, before cell phones and constant check-ins, I was wild and free. My bare feet knew the sting of rocks, the cool damp of mossy logs, and the stickiness of mud between my toes. If I wasn’t asleep or tied to a family obligation, I was gone.

There wasn’t much that could stop me from venturing far and wide within my search grid. I say “search grid” because this all started for the love of berries.

You see, I was one of 10 individuals vying for the harvest that grew on our meager crop, but we lived in an environment where the bushes and brambles of the wild spaces were abundant. Preferred even… For they were of such choice flavor, quality, and variety of which you cannot purchase.

No, my family didn’t know where I was. But they didn’t seem to mind either. As long as I stayed out of trouble and was home by dinner.

Yes, I was breaking a few rules. Mostly the one that said…”stay on the property.”

See I knew, from previous outings with family and other short ventures into the wild spaces, that the best berries were close enough to get to by foot. What’s a mile or two for a kid with ambition and time.

No, I didn’t have a phone or any way of contacting people if I was in a bind, but that was normal. Nobody did. Our “texting” was a note, folded in a special way so as to hide the contents and make it fun to open. We had to be creative in passing these little gifts to each other without detection. We didn’t even have “sticky notes” back then…

Regardless, soon I was venturing even when the harvest wasn’t ready. I found places all along the way that I hadn’t noticed before, and as long as I dodged cars and people by slipping between the bushes and trees…I was safe. Right? Children’s heads are marvelous vessels.

Children can rationalize and adjust to any environment once they’ve deemed it safe. And there were so many trails and connecting neighboring spaces, that it felt welcoming. I knew many of the occupants of the houses that I was passing due to our family’s involvement in the community; as well, so I was confident that I could find my way once I learned the lay of the land. Expanding my comfort zone with each new adventure.

Then, I discovered penny candy. Oh, yes. I’m that old.

See, back in my day…we walked. Everywhere! Sunday was the only day we got rides, and you can guess why. Can’t have girls standing on their heads or climbing trees until after they get out of their dresses. It just wouldn’t be “lady like.” Anyway, …

This one Saturday, my brother and I were walking to a baseball game that we were both going to be participating in… Yep, coed little league.

I was a right fielder, relief pitcher (for one game–hahaha), and a general “daisy chain” maker and clover suckling dreamer on the side. I got bored with sports pretty easily. I just didn’t see the point of it when running around town was so much more rewarding and fun. But I digress…

While walking by a corner store that sold mostly cigarettes, beer, fountain drinks, and other wonderful vices; there it was–the holy grail of childhood temptation. Lined up in the window, clear glass containers overflowed with bright, crinkly-wrapped treasures. Some, I recognized. Others? Exotic and mysterious.

I had no idea candy like this existed…but I knew I needed it. I was fairly drooling. I’ve always had a sweet tooth, but to find out I could get 5 candies for a nickel. I was sold!

You can bet, I was there the next day with the rest of my piggy bank. What my parents didn’t know wouldn’t be their concern. Of course, as a side note, the dentist sure told them. Especially in a small town with the family acquaintance as the dentist.

But as I was looking for every penny I could find. I found 2 stores along my usual routes that provided such fare, that I was delighted to even pace them both off to see which was closest and easiest to visit without notice.

It was an obsession, until the money ran out.

Then I conceded back to the edges of the roads, buildings, and bushes. Even more confident with my range being as the stores I had been frequenting were over half a mile away or more.

I was learning the patterns of traffic. When and where I could walk along roads or visit parks when they would be vacant. I even knew the exhausts that I could huddle up on along certain buildings on colder days that billowed heat and air. Looking back, it was a daily treasure hunt of activities, environments, and even wildlife.

I started to notice patterns in the weather and when or where the majority of the animals would be moving about the paths. I noticed certain times of the year when I could find swarms of ladybugs or polliwogs in the seasonal puddles, or when the frogs were the most vocal.

I later discovered there were nocturnal animals that most people never even see until they ended up dead on the side of the road.

So, I started sneaking out at night. Yet, that’s another story. I have quite the long life to divulge, and this is only one blog post.

Suffice to say, I was a wild child learning from nature and growing through its patterns. Understanding its language and feeling its rhythms. My wild nature was learned from a very early age. The moment I could walk outside on my own, I was venturing into the woods that were no more than 10 ft off my back door.

We may have been in the middle of the city, but the city hadn’t found us yet. It went on for acres, and more.

Oh, the stories and adventures I have yet to express. Although the memories can never be shared today the way they were experienced back then. The context is different, and those experiences are dwindling from existence.

This is why I’ve decided they need to be remembered and shared for our own sanity in these coming times.

I didn’t know it then, but I was learning something priceless–how to move with the rhythms of nature, how to listen to its unspoken language, how to be free.

Now, I realize what I’ve given up… and what I’m here to reclaim.

As always, the forest grows, the journey continues, adventure awaits--and you’re never truly alone.

I’ve always known I had a different perspective. Now I hope you can too.

Those who know, call me Niki. Once you know, you can too.