THE BUSH HUT 15 



ful. There was no sense of "roughing it" in our old 

 Bush hut. 



Garden and orchard needed some care, and wood- 

 splitting and spade work provided exercise, apart from 

 Bush rambles. The morning plunge in the swimming 

 hole, embowered in wattles and ferns, was refresh- 

 ing after slumber. Our garden was stocked with old- 

 fashioned plants: wallflowers, pansies, violets and 

 phlox. A rose bush grew at one end of the hut, and 

 ivy climbed about the other. Just beyond the threshold 

 long grass formed a jungle; then came the orchard, 

 with a narrow pathway leading to the creek. "Walden 

 Hut" fronted the road, but we promoted the back 

 door, because it opened on wildness and beauty. So 

 little was the other portal used that, in time, ivy sprays 

 crept across it, and spiders spun webs in the corners. 

 Indeed, the hut was a harbour for wild things. Blue 

 Wrens nested in the ivy, Swallows under the bark 

 eaves, and beneath the floor lurked snakes and 

 lizards; mice pattered between the logs and hessian, 

 and moths rested in crannies. Besides these boarders, 

 we received visitors from the Bush. Scarlet-breasted 

 Kobins [Petroica leggii] came to the garden, and a 

 pair nested in the woodpile. In the night, Opossums 

 [Phalangers] played about on the roof; at dawn we 

 were wakened by bird notes. Sometimes a Great 

 Brown Kingfisher [Dacelo gigas] would chuckle and 

 gurgle from the ridge pole; Magpies [Gymnorhina 

 leuconotci] rarely failed to carol, and small birds 

 greeted sunrise with a medley of sweet sounds. A 

 village girl, rising early, sang as she went through 

 dewy grass to the milking shed. It was good to lie 

 abed and hear all these morning sounds, while sun- 

 beams slanted through the window on to one's face; 

 pleasant, also, to win glimpses of sky through the open 

 doorway. 



After an early breakfast, on fine days, we would 

 set out with camera and field glasses, to ramble in 



