Life in the Land Down Under: Treehouse on the Ground

Kookaburras call me up to my little treehouse in the evening, warning me that darkness will fall soon. If I wait too long to leave the light of Krista and Sam’s house, who knows what creatures I’ll scare up walking up the little hill. One evening, I savored my ten thousandth cuppa of the day a bit too long. The conversation was a bit too captivating and I hadn’t brought my headlamp down with me. So I followed the edge of the gravel path and listened for the crunch of leaves underfoot to guide me back. I heard some scampering ahead as frenzied feet clambered up a nearby tree. Then a sharp yap as if I was being scolded for creeping up on whoever it was. A possum, probably?

The treehouse. It was grounded after a visit from the town council.

I reach the stump step up onto my tiny porch and open the door with a creak, feeling my way the few steps across the sheepskin rug until I bump into the bed. I click on the lamp and the warm light reveals the most perfect little room. It is Henry David Thoreau gone Australia. It is Christopher Mccandless’ bus without the Alaskan wilderness. A flat, slanted roof covers the tiny room, just big enough to hold a bed (with mosquito net hanging elegantly above) and a rustic table and chair. The table is adorned with a stack of books. The windows look out into the bush where I spied kangaroos hopping past, possums wandering about, kookaburras sitting squatly on their branches and what I think might have been a wallaby snacking on some greens. There is a little candle, which I light when I’m writing in my journal.

I’ve brought a small pile of plums up with me. They sit tantalizingly shiny and juicy on the rough wooden table. I’ve already had about 7 plums today. Krista and I went to a jam making party where a mob of small kids and young moms gathered to cut plums, boil jars and run amuck. We stayed canning, having cups of tea, chasing the kids around and making sticky everything we touched with our jam fingers until the kids were tired and meltdowns galore sent us all back home for naps.

Banjo and Bryn munching on plums

Plum Jam

Back home two year old Banjo runs wild, his messy white-blonde hair streaming behind him as he screeches and giggles his way around the house, avoiding nap-time at all costs. 4 month old Daisy gurgles and practices rolling around on the floor, laughing whenever Banjo comes into view. Finally everyone is asleep and there is a brief moment of quiet in the house. Krista and I celebrate with a cup of tea and then we get to work.

Daisy

Sam, Banjo and Krista while we paint the house

We’ve already done everything we can outside. We’ve picked up trailers full of manure and spread it through the garden beds and compost heap. We’ve fenced in some of the vegetables so the chickens can’t scratch away all the new manure. We’ve raked away all the dead leaves, fallen bark and wood away from the house to remove bushfire risk. We’ve painted the side of the mudbrick house with render made from clay. But now it is time to get ready for the Woodend Sustainability Festival. Krista and Sam are very involved with kids. Sam is the outdoor education teacher at a local school (yes, outdoor education is a subject in school!!) so they’ve volunteered to organize the kids’ activities. We’re making paper from recycled math books so we get to work ripping up the old books and soaking them in water to create pulp with which the kids will make new paper.

The Poly Tunnel

Sam's Bread

I awaken to the flock of kookaburras laughing the day into being, egging each other on until the sound has built loud enough to rouse me from under my mosquito net. It is my last morning and as we all head out to the car for a ride to the train station, Sam puts a warm loaf of homemade bread in one hand, and a handwritten card so kind it brings tears to me eyes in the other. Though I want to explore more places, I feel a real connection to Woodend and leaving this place where I’ve begun to feel at home is difficult. But I know I’ll be back.

A beautiful moment:

I had planned to wwoof next at Sam’s school, Candlebark. However, through some miscommunications, the plan fell through and I was left with nowhere to stay in two days time. I was feeling slightly stressed about it, though not very since I know I can always find a hostel to crash in for a night or two. At the festival I ran into my first wwoof host, Penny. It was wonderful to catch up with her and as I told her about my slight predicament, she was hatching a plan to invite me back to stay with her. Meanwhile another lady (whom I had never met) was eavesdropping. When my conversation with Penny ended, she introduced herself, apologized for eavesdropping and then offered me a place to stay with her family! It turns out her kids attend Candlebark and she felt she wanted to offer something nice to me. I couldn’t believe it. I went from feeling slightly anxious about having nowhere to stay to feeling overwhelmed with gratitude and appreciation for these kind people opening their homes to me. What a great place.