The wide meadow, alive with the sound of crickets, was just down from Carnarvon Street and across from Landsdowne Avenue in Victoria. As I remember, it was wild and awash with tall green grass, thick bushes and small trees that afforded plenty of possible hiding places. Landsdowne was a busy street and there was a rule in our household that dictated my younger bother Hugh and I were forbidden from crossing it. The same went for all of the children in our neighbourhood. We all knew there would be hell to pay if we were caught disobeying this order.

The sound of cars rushing down the avenue only served to reinforce our respect for our parents’ regulations. But then, as now, I knew the adage “Rules were made to be broken.” And that meadow had an allure that a nine-year old and her next door girlfriend found hard to resist. And so “the day we built the hideaway” story begins.

It was a sunny morning in early fall when the busy days of summer were a memory and the quiet days of autumn had set in when my friend Allison, and I decided to break free from parental control. During summer vacation the neighbourhood kids were active and we biked, played board games and had sidewalk competitions like hop scotch and jacks. Often we staged plays and concerts in our garages – the overhead doors served as perfect theatre curtains. Once we even gathered grass cuttings left behind from mowed lawns and to our parents’ dismay, we lined the garage floor with them. But this September day those ideas were far behind us and boredom had set in. Allison and I were searching for adventure and it took the form of defiance.

It started as a challenge. “I double dare you”, Allison shouted. “Let’s cross over Landsdown together . We can make a hideaway in the tall grass and bushes.”

We told our mothers we were preparing a picnic lunch to eat in the doll house that stood in Allison’s backyard. That playhouse was a collaborative work of art between Allison’s father and her uncle. Red painted plywood walls and a tarpaper roof gave the playhouse a realistic look and provided Allison a powerful place in the neighborhood children’s hierarchy.

Preparing for our daring afternoon we made our favorite sandwiches and poured orange Kool-aide in thermoses that we put in our tin lunch kits usually meant for school lunches. We spread smooth peanut butter and sweet raspberry jam on Weston’s soft white bread and topped off our menu with a desert of Dad’s oatmeal cookies.

Hopping on our two wheelers together we cycled down our street with our lunch boxes firmly secured in the plastic baskets attached to our bike’s handlebars. I am sure I held my breath as we waited for a break in traffic to cross to the forbidden field.

As we entered the meadow and dropped our bikes to the ground we spied some older boys from a neighboring street. It seemed we were not the first kids to come up with the idea of building a special hideaway away from adult eyes. These other kids were busy moving small twigs and rocks as they created a “house” in the wooded area. Allison and I exchanged knowing glances. We would create a mansion. The competition was on!!

We eagerly took on the task of gathering the building blocks for our hideout. We dragged various sized tree branches and assorted rocks to create three rooms with walls high enough to hide us if we ducked down low. We worked all through the day and and before we knew it the glow of twilight had set in.

Those were the “ancient” days when kids ran freely in the community and as a general rule were expected home as soon as the street lights came on. However that rule applied after eating dinner. Allison and I had unintentionally missed supper and we realized we would be in very hot water.

It was about then that we heard the shouts at the edge of the meadow. We listened to our names ringing out. “Kathy! Allison!” We first reacted by crouching down and ignoring the yells. But we quickly realized we had to face our fate. Sheepishly we picked up our bicycles and made our way to where our mothers were frantically calling out our names.

Along with the relative freedom I was given while growing up came the consequences of disobedience. My gentle mother was not at all reluctant to threaten and use “the wooden spoon!” This was just such a situation and my mother did not disappoint.

Much has been said about today’s children being over protected and missing out on carefree play. Words like “helicopter parents”, too much screen time and overindulgence are used to present the notion that present day kids are missing out on an untroubled childhood. It is generally accepted as a regrettable sign of the times. But I have a story that belies that notion.

A few weeks ago my three oldest grandsons and some friends spent days working on building a tree fort in the friends’ backyard. The lot backs onto a wooded ravine that is ideal for playing hide and seek and making a playhouse in the trees. Together the boys hauled in scraps of lumber and gathered wood branches to construct the fort. With hammer and nails they collaboratively used their creativity to construct the treehouse. They were excited to spend play time among the boughs of the tree.

Then something happened to upend the project.

As the kids were putting the finishing touches in their “home in the sky” there was a knock on the door of the house where they were building the fort. The mother of the boys’ friends, Natasha, went to her front door to answer. There stood a bylaw enforcement officer. Here is what Natasha texted after that encounter:

“I got a little visit from a peace officer today who said he had received a call (I think from one of the neighbours that back onto the ravine from the other side) complaining or reporting that a fort was being built on the ravine. My son had mentioned that someone had come out and talked to them the other day.. Anyway, apparently we are not allowed to build forts or even use any nails (even with dead pieces of wood that are on the ground) or even climb trees on city grounds…and he was threatening to give us a fine if we don’t have all the nails removed within a week. This is so disappointing. The kids have been working so hard and I love the creativity and teamwork they used to build what they did in the first place.”

So ok! What has become of us? The moment this younger generation has the opportunity to exercise independence they are thwarted by legislative interference. Our parents did not hover over us and we were accountable for our transgressions. But I am pretty confident that there were no bylaw restrictions on the field where Allison and I created our hideout.

I am proud that my grandsons and their friends felt secure in their opportunities to enjoy the wonderful possibilities of childhood. Hats off to their parents for supporting their sense of adventure and their inventiveness. Boo to the society that we have become. A society that creates fear of legal repercussions from possible outcomes of everyday enjoyment of public places. Perhaps there is room for common sense to interpret rules less harshly. Occasionally bending the rules may serve good purpose.

So this is what I am saying: I should rephrase the title of this blog My lament transgresses generational limitations. So here is my renamed blog:

Lament for Lost Childhood Freedom