Best Kid Holiday

Don't think that kids need Hawaii or Disneyland for the best holiday ever. You can either go with your child or send your child to a farm. It's worth it. But make sure it's a real farm, not some cutesy dude ranch. What children will learn living for a week or two on a farm is about "themselves". They may learn to do what they don't want to because it is part of what everyone must do to be an "everyone". They'll learn that milk comes from a cow and eggs come from a chicken and meat comes from an animal, not bottles or  boxes or plastic trays. They'll learn to leave the electronics by and take a look at what really matters in human lives. I make no apologies for harking back to my past on The Farm because we don't learn everything from the present. Life on a real farm isn't about pressing buttons or calling for Mom or Dad to do it for you. You do it yourself or share doing it. Farm life is a DIY setting. We were sent to our grandparent's farm when Mom and Dad went off to do their holiday. On this farm, electicity and running water were absent. Impossible you say? No. The battery radio went on once at night for Grampa's news. The newpaper was the Sunday one, that had to be picked up in "town". We always went, riding on the back of the flat deck truck holding on for dear life. We knew an ice cream cone each was next. We all shared the comics, our reading lesson of the day and loved all week.  My cousins went to the farm and all at once. Sometimes six or seven of us at a time. Our grandparents loved us and knew us to become self-trusting enough to look out for horse's hoofs when we helped dung out the barns, to stay out of the bull pen and not eat anything wild we didn't know. They said, if you go climb trees in the orchard, make sure there isn't a bear in it first. Otherwise, we went  everywhere we had the courage to go on this beautiful section of land outside the village of Haney. There were streams to wade in and fish in, to try and catch with safety pin hooks and rods we made ourselves. The farm cats and dogs were not for playing. Sport, the "watch dog", was cranky but looked out for us. We tried to catch the barn cats but they had too many escape routes. Gramma did all the cooking on her huge black wood stove, milked the cows in the evenings and took us to gather eggs warm from under the hens. We could climb onto the horses backs using their manes as reins for riding.  No one said to stay out of the garden with sweet carrots, peas on vines, green onions and radishes to nibble on. There were endless wild berries to pluck, and trails in the woods with streams to bathe in. At night we had bread and milk laced with honey before card games with Grampa. We all slept together in a big bed, lying across it and telling eachother  stories. No one told us when to go to bed or get up. The loo was a tiny building down the hill with an old Eaton's catalogue on a hook and a pail of dirt with a trowel in it. We were taught that good manners were please and thank you and respecting elders: Gramma with the dishes and Grampa in the barn. The books available were the classics only bought once at an auction. Later we read them as Literature in university. Life on The Farm was freedom and lessons nowhere else to find.