Growing up in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, I lived in an area where I was related to nearly everyone I knew until I started high school in another town. But not quite everyone. The guy who owned the lumber yard wasn't related to me as far as I knew. Given that the town of Wallace, where I lived, had a population of only a couple of hundred people and was surrounded by acres and acres of forest and, since I was related to everyone, it didn't really matter whose land we were on, my cousins and I would build a shack every spring or early summer, where we'd sleep out throughout the summer, only to build another one the following year. There were only three kids my age who lived near me, and they were all first cousins. We would collect pop bottles throughout the year, turning them in at my grandfather's IGA store for the deposit. I wrote comic books that other kids actually paid a quarter apiece for, at a time when Marvel was only getting a nickel, although mine were mildly x-rated, whereas Marvel Comics had editorial policies that they had to follow. One year, we started a club during school, collecting monthly dues, although the dues were to be used to buy material for the shack that we were going to build, and which only four of us were going to be able to use regularly. Some of these kids weren't that smart. Then, when school let out for the summer, we'd take our money to the lumber yard to buy new lumber, tar paper, and nails. My cousin, Calvin, was our resident contractor, since I still can't figure out how much wood I'll need for a particular project. They weren't tiny shacks either. One year, our shack had two rooms downstairs and an upstairs. Another year, we included a basement. Each year, we would tell the guy who ran the lumber yard what we wanted, and ask him how much it would cost. He would ask how much we had, and it was always enough. Sometimes, he'd even throw in some other stuff. I was in my thirties before I thought back on that, and realized that he had been giving it to us.
I cannot relate to this thread because I grew up in the city. My family is an apartment dweller so even grass was alien to me then. The small garage was concrete and all I see were concrete. Coincidentally, even the school grounds was concrete. It didn't occur to me that I was missing a lot when it comes to nature because for me as a little girl, nature was the city. However, during summer, my parents would bring us kids to the province where we can play under the tree and pick ripe fruits. The house of my grandparents was wooden with nipa as roofing. It was fun playing with my cousins and I really miss them when I would be back home. That was my life as a child regarding rural and urban culture.