Every Easter, our family goes camping with friends on a remote stretch of a river in Victoria, Australia. It's a six-hour drive from the city. The final 20 kilometres, like some sort of supreme ordeal before we reach our goal, is tricky driving: a gravelly one-vehicle track down the mountain, with a precipitous drop on one side. If you meet another car, as we usually do, a good deal of negotiation needs to be done.

As we drive down this section of the track, we catch breathtaking glimpses of the river below. Winding beneath sheltering peaks dotted with native pines, its white beaches and deep pools bring back memories of holidays past.

Then we are there and, once the temper-fraying business of setting up camp is over and done with, we all begin what is for us the best week in the whole year.

Last year, we did something different. The kids found an island. It was a tiny one, and they reconnoitred it thoroughly. It had rocks and bushes, and a small sandy spit just big enough for six children to sleep on. Best of all, it was a realisland, surrounded by shallow but fast-flowing water.

Beside themselves with excitement, the kids pleaded to be allowed to sleep there on our last night, and we agreed to the adventure if they didn't mind us, the parents, sleeping on an adjacent beach within sight and sound of them.

After an early dinner, we carted sleeping bags, groundsheets and torches down to the river and across to the island. We set up the kids' sleeping place and gathered wood for a morning fire. The children had explored and named every nook and cranny＊ of their island, and shown us around. Watchtower Rock, Baby's Bottom (smooth as), Japanese Garden, The Spa...

We paddled back and set up our sleeping spot on the mainland. We lit a fire, opened a bottle of wine and sprawled in the cooling sand, talking. I felt like a teenager lying on the beach with my sweetheart, and a sense of adventure.

Every half-hour until 8.30, the children flashed a torch to show all was well, and we yelled updates and excitement and pleasure and goodnights across the rapids. By nine all was quiet, and by half past ten we adults were turning in too. I woke in the night thinking I had heard a child cry, but it was only a bird. I lay there, looking up at the stars and the bright moon, listening to the song of the river and feeling the earth's cradling all around me. In the morning, my 13-year-old told me she could hardly sleep all night for happiness.

Lucky kids! As a child, I had to make do with virtual camping: devouring the wonderful nature books that my own children now love. But they get the real thing: life lived on the bosom of mother earth. Adventure and courage and responsibility with the security of parents on a beach nearby.

These are the things the children recall with shining eyes, backs straight with pride when we reminisce about the good times we have had. Not the latest computer game or website or TV series, but the magic, old as humankind itself, of tents and campfires, storytelling and skinny-dipping and sleeping under the stars.These are gifts that we can give them as a talisman against the despair felt by so many young people.

These are the memories that enchant their childhood, will carry them into adulthood and warm them in their old age.

每年复活节，我们全家都要和朋友一起到澳大利亚维多利亚州一条偏远的河边去野营。从城里开车去那里需要6个小时。最后20公里路十分难走，如同到达目标前的某种最残酷的考验：沿着山边的一条仅容一车通过的碎石路，另一边是险峻的陡坡。如果碰上另一辆车——这种情况时有发生——就少不了一番你争我让的口舌。

在这段路途中，我们能瞥见山下河流的迷人景色。蜿蜒的河流在遍布澳洲松的山峰间隐现，白色的沙滩和幽深的水潭勾起我们对以往假日的美好回忆。

这样，我们到了那里。在令人烦躁的搭建帐篷工作完成后，我们一年中最美妙的一个星期就开始了。

去年的野营比较特别。孩子们发现了一个小小的岛屿，对它进行了仔细的勘察。岛上有岩石和灌木，还有一个恰好够6个孩子躺着歇息的沙岬。最妙的是，这是个真正的岛，周围环绕着浅浅的急流。

孩子们兴奋不已，央求大人准许他们在那里度过假日的最后一夜。我们同意了他们的冒险计划，条件是他们得让我们睡在旁边的沙滩上，这样他们就在我们的视线和听觉范围之内。

早早吃完晚饭后，我们把睡袋、防潮布和手电筒运到河边，再送到对面的小岛上。我们把孩子们睡觉的地方收拾好，又捡了些木柴以备明早生火之用。孩子们勘察并命名了岛上的每一个角落，然后带我们参观：岗楼岩、娃娃腚（形容其光滑）、日本庭园、矿泉浴场等等。

我们涉水回到河岸上，收拾好睡觉的地方。然后我们点上火，打开一瓶酒，手脚摊开躺在凉爽的沙滩上，开始聊天。我觉得自己像个十来岁的孩子，正和心爱的人一起躺在沙滩上，有一种历险的感觉。

晚上8点半之前，每隔半个钟头，孩子们就闪一下手电以报平安。我们的喊声也越过急流,和他们分享最新的想法和兴奋之情，跟他们道晚安。9点钟，一切都静了下来。10点半时，我们这些大人也开始睡觉了。我在夜里醒来，似乎听到了孩子的哭声，其实那只是一声鸟鸣。我躺在那儿，仰望星空明月，倾听着河流的歌声，感到大地在我四周轻轻地摇动，如同摇篮一般。第二天早上，13岁的女儿告诉我，她高兴得几乎一夜没睡。

他们真是幸运的孩子！孩提时的我只能如饥似渴地阅读那些描写自然美景的精彩书籍，在脑海里拼命想像露营的情景。我自己的孩子现在也喜欢这些书，但除此之外他们还能真正体验在大地母亲怀抱里的生活。经历一下冒险、检验一下勇气、承担一点责任，而且不乏安全感，因为父母就在不远处的沙滩上。

每当我们回首一起度过的美好时光，对这些事的回忆总是让孩子们双眸发亮，骄傲地挺直了腰板。它不是最新的电脑游戏、不是最时髦的网站、也不是最流行的电视连续剧，而是和人类自身一样古老的、来自帐篷和篝火、讲故事、裸泳以及星光下的夜宿的神奇魔力。

我们可以把这样的礼物当做护身符送给孩子们，用它来驱走困扰许多年轻人的绝望情绪。这些美好记忆使他们的童年令人陶醉，还会伴随他们长大成人，给他们的暮年增添暖意。