The preschool-aged children play outside all day ... rain, hail or shine. They are just dressed appropriately for the often inclement weather. The children climb trees, know to steer clear of waterways and whittle sticks with sharp tools and knives.

A program on SBS's Insight earlier in the year showed young Danish children at the forest kindergartens sitting high up in tree tops, swaying in the Nordic breeze.

The British reporter had inquired about the safety standards. The teacher explained that the children understood the risks inherent in their surroundings and acted accordingly. He said the only time he ever needed to take a child to hospital in more than a decade of teaching was when a parent inadvertently drove over their foot at morning drop-off.

Not all Danish children go to forest kindergartens but play-based learning and outdoor exploration regardless of the weather is a constant for children growing up in Denmark.

Having been a Rotary exchange student in Jutland for 12 months in 1989, I could not wait until our children, aged 5 and 9, could finally meet my host families and friends and their offspring last month.

Our eldest played with a Danish girl, 8, for a whole day despite the fact barely a dozen words were spoken. Only rarely did they seek a translation. They blew bubbles in the windy weather, skipped rope to the playground, climbed to the top of the tallest play equipment and skipped home again - their play date never missed a beat … or an iPad.

Days later on the fringe of Denmark's oldest town, we got another insight into the Danish approach to childhood. Children were encouraged to sit astride a wonky, wooden stand and whittle a tree branch with hand tools at Ribe Viking Centre. They sat for at least 45 minutes, focused only on the task and in no danger of anything, least of all boredom. When finally we told our two to leave there were howls of protest.

"We never, ever get to whittle sticks with cool tools!"

Of course, they were right.

All Danish children ride bikes, meaning they visit friends and get around quite independently of their parents by about age nine.

In Copenhagen the playgrounds looked more like homages to modern architecture than swings, likely because they were designed by architects.

A piece of blue climbing equipment outside The National Aquarium resembled a bench seat that rose vertically before it looped back around several times to the ground. There were no guards or rails, just children of all ages, all using it differently.

Smaller versions of the same blue equipment, which also served as seats, dotted our walk back to the metro. Our girls loved discovering each new piece, never once asking: "How much longer to the station?" Architectural genius at work and play right there.

When our youngest daughter fractured her leg on a sunken trampoline in Denmark on the last day of our holiday, the irony was not lost on me. 

A Dane in the ER waiting room enquired about our daughter's injury.

"Trampoline," I said.

"They are not always good," she said.

"But still, children must be allowed to try everything out for themselves!"

Therein, I believe, is the essence of living Danishly.