This New York Times article about a Waldorf-based forest kindergarten in Saratoga Springs has lingered in my thoughts for the past couple of days, popping up when I see my son playing outside on his school’s playground or when I get a glimpse of the full moon and long to be camped out in the cold. The slideshow that accompanied the article was particularly affecting, from the leafless November woods to the children sitting around a family-style lunch table in a beautiful old farmhouse. The truth is, this is certainly not the first time I’ve wanted something a little different for my children, a day-to-day existence that involves more exploring, more time spent playing in streams and running around outside until I call them in for dinner (okay, while I realize that Elena’s only one, she’s growing up fast). The formative years that I remember (let’s call them ages 4-11), were spent first on a cul-de-sac and then on a dairy farm. I roamed, I had a fort in a bush in the backyard, I biked, I played cops and robbers, I spent hours engineering the stream, climbing on the hay, and traipsing through the pastures. When I was in fifth grade, I couldn’t believe it when Melissa, in sixth grade, said she had no time to play outside; she was always doing homework. While my jaw may not have literally dropped, I remember that slackjawed feeling, wondering how it was possible to live without playing for hours outside.
Those of you who know me recognize, of course, that I take my kids outside pretty often: we play in the snow, hike, go to the playground. But that’s scheduled by me, and it’s on my terms, really; Sylvan’s not just going outside to splash in the stream (there is no stream, although, if it rains hard enough, the street hosts a stream). These forest kindergarten kids spend three hours outside every morning, just being kids in the outdoors.
We do have a relatively new preschool in town, Dancing Sol, which has gotten rave reviews from the parents whose kids have gone there. I’ve been tempted to send Sylvan there. But that would involve lots of extra driving, and lots of retooling our schedules. Now, we drop off and pick up Elena and Sylvan in a double jogger; we can walk to their school from home, Chris’s work, or my rehearsal. It fits our needs and our values, and Sylvan and Elena know and enjoy their friends and teachers. And, honestly, I would feel like a parent over-engineering my son’s time if I made the switch.
I’ve also been influenced lately by Lenore Skenazy’s blog, Free-Range Kids. She’s been called “the worst mom in the world†for letting her son, who was nine at the time, find his way home on the subway by himself from Bloomingdale’s. This might seem like a scary thing if you don’t live in Manhattan, but this kid grew up there; he been riding the subway for nine years, reading subway maps for three. Her blog is dedicated to encouraging independence in your children by giving them independence (and also pointing out the absurdities of hovering parents and panic-inducing media).
My problem derives largely from our choice to live in the city in order to be able to walk to the grocery store, work, and school. That’s inherently different, of course, from living on a farm or in the forest. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting it all.
So I’m looking for ways to let out the leash, to give my son and my daughter real freedom, real opportunities to get outside and explore and construct without me. And without being turned in to the Department of Human Services.
Sometimes I think you read my mind. If we lived near each other we would have a lot to talk about.