It Takes a Village to Educate a Child
You’ve heard it said, “It takes a village to raise a child.”
And it does.
But I’ve come to realise something even deeper on this journey of full-time travel and homeschooling and that is it actually takes a village to educate a child as well.
When we first set off around Australia, I worried. Would our kids miss out on something? Were we somehow trading “real education” adventure?
At the time, I comforted myself with phrases like, “Well, at least they’ll see the country.” “They’ll learn through travel.” And while all of that is absolutely true, this past fortnight—staying with extended family—showed me just how wide and beautiful education really is.
Beyond the Books: A Family Full of Teachers
Yes, Brad and I guide the curriculum essentials. We sit at the table with IXL and workbooks, set tasks, check progress. But lately, the people around us have become unexpected teachers, in our children’s lives—and often, in ways we never could be.
Going to the theatre with nanna was a real treat. The kids and I had a wonderful time.
Grandma and Nanna have taken the lead in the arts. Nanna whisked the kids off to see Beauty and the Beast live on stage, where they were treated to hours of singing, storytelling, and dramatic reenactments of one of their favourite Disney tales.
Meanwhile, Grandma—with her incredible craft room—has patiently guided little hands through sewing, card-making, and papercraft projects. Beyond that, she has a natural gift for drawing kids into creative expression. One moment it's an impromptu living room theatre performance, the next it's a spontaneous self-portrait drawing session—always adaptable, always engaging for every age and stage.
In the lounge room, of the family home, there are two upright pianos. They are always proudly waiting for the kids jump on them whenever inspiration strikes, whether it’s to tinker with a new tune, create a melody they’ve heard, or simply explore sound for the joy of it.
we are so grateful for talented family members, like Auntie Coralie, who teaches our kids all about music.
That’s where Auntie Coralie shines. Though she holds a Bachelor of Music, to our kids though, she’s just their warm, kind, talented and much-loved auntie—the one who slides onto the piano stool beside them, plays along with whatever they’re attempting, and gently guides them as they explore and enjoy the instrument. She doesn’t “teach” so much as share, and in doing so, helps the kids discover their own musical talent. Her joy and love of music is so contagious, and the kids always respond with curiosity and confidence. They've been composing their own songs, as well as, experimenting with harmony, and learning to listen and feel the music.
History, Civics, and the Art of Conversation
And then there’s Grandpa. A living history book wrapped in dad jokes and strong opinions.
Over dinner, out in the shed, and sometimes just in passing, he shares stories—about our his local community, their family’s history, and current events. This past week, he’s been volunteering at the local election, heading out each day to hand out flyers at the polling booth. The kids noticed—and, naturally, the questions followed.
“Why do people stand out there all day?”
“What is this even about?”
“What’s the point of a democracy, anyway?”
“Do people in England vote too?”
Even when opinions clashed (as they sometimes do around a multi-generational table), the kids were learning how to listen with respect, think critically, and form their own views.
These conversations have taken us in so many directions—from how elections work to the different voting systems around the world. It’s led to google searches, history chats, YouTube vlog’s, and thoughtful debates. Most of all, it’s helped our kids realise that being part of a community means participating, asking questions, and caring enough to show up.
These weren’t classroom lessons. They were real, experience-based conversations—and because they carried emotional weight, the learning stuck in a way learning from books or classrooms rarely can.
drawing with grandma was a creative activity the kids enjoyed doing last week. They all decided to hide their picture and show each other at the end.
Over the years, our kids have sat with their grandparents, flicking through old photo albums, asking questions, and listening to stories passed down through generations. They’ve learned about their family tree, all the way back to their great-great-grandparents, Ben and Annie—who built the very homestead their Grandma and Grandpa still live in today.
Grandpa Ben’s story isn’t just something we talk about—it’s part of their everyday environment. His old shed still stands in the backyard, a physical reminder of the life and work that came before them.
These chats have sparked bigger questions—about migration, war, voting rights, and how society has changed. The kids didn’t just learn history—they saw how their own family fits into it. And that kind of learning has a way of sticking.
Learning Through Life (and a Little Bit of Chaos)
Baking has been another gift—something we rarely get to do in our little caravan kitchen. The kids are soaking up lessons in measurements, kitchen safety, and patience, all under the smell of melting butter and chocolate chip cookies.
And then there’s our wild toddler.
Don’t let that gorgeous, cheeky smile fool you, he can be quite the menace
Our youngest, Micah Benjamin, has unknowingly become the family’s greatest teacher of resilience, negotiation, and emotional regulation. He’s demanding, delightful, and determined—all at once. The older three have learned how to work together, distract him mid-tantrum, offer clever swaps, and sometimes just give up and chase him down the hallway for their toy. It’s exhausting and hilarious—but it’s real teamwork training in disguise.
We’ve also leaned into some quality screen time—watching documentaries on ABC iView, SBS, and YouTube. From “The Most Dangerous Ways to School " to stories of children navigating chronic illness in hospital, my kids were genuinely impacted by what they saw. It sparked good questions, thoughtful conversations, and even a bit of independent research.
It gave them a new perspective—appreciating what they have, and diving deeper into topics like feeding tubes and swallowing conditions. That curiosity turned into a full-blown biology lesson (complete with my very rough nursing sketches).
Wisdom in the Quiet Moments
And then came one of my favourite morning. Great Grandma, nearly 94 years young, sat on the couch with a cup of coffee and a plate of homemade biscuits, easing into the day. Across from her, Hannah held chrome book with her latest poems on the screen. With just a bit of encouragement, she began to read it aloud.
Hannah enjoyed this special time with her great-grandmother. I managed to snap a photo of their poetry reading time together
Great Grandma’s face lit up. Not many people know this, but she has folders and folders of poetry she’s written over the years—verses about wartime, childhood toys, family, everyday life, and the thoughts that have shaped her through the decades.
For both of them, it was a gift.
For Great Grandma, it was the chance to be seen, heard, and appreciated—to share her poetry with her great-granddaughter and know it mattered.
Hannah loves listening and learning from her great-grandmother
And for Hannah, it was just as precious—an honour to sit with someone who has lived so much, created so much, and now passed on a piece of that wisdom and creativity.
They talked about rhythm and meaning, how life used to be, and how poems can say what regular words sometimes can’t. They read, they listened, and they connected—two generations, two poets, sharing something very special.
That moment wasn’t just touching. It was education in its purest form: connection, legacy, curiosity, and the quiet joy of learning from each other.
The Lesson I Didn’t Expect
So here’s my confession:
When we started this homeschooling journey, I worried. I thought we might be short-changing our kids academically—and I justified it by saying, “Well, at least they’re seeing Australia.”
But I was wrong. Deeply wrong.
Because what I’ve seen over these past few weeks proves that homeschooling—worldschooling—can be rich, layered, and deeply meaningful. It’s not just academic. It’s intergenerational. It’s cultural. It’s emotional. It’s practical.
And really, it’s what we’ve been doing all along—not just here at the family homestead, but in every town we’ve visited. It’s the chats with volunteers at visitor centres, the connections we’ve made at local churches, the everyday moments with people who cross our path. These past few weeks haven’t been a one-off—they’ve simply highlighted what home education actually looks like in practice.
It’s learning through connection and conversation—through music, storytelling, history, politics, baking, and yes, even toddler tantrums.
And it’s exactly the kind of education I didn’t know we needed—until I saw it unfolding all around me.
