I grew up on a farm that had a pine plantation over the paddocks from the house. It was where two creeks met at one end, and fenced at the other. The creeks flowed either side from top to bottom, narrowing the land as they got closer to each other. So we kids called it 'the island' and spent most of our summer holidays and weekends there, building huts and playing explorers. It was a bit like Swallows and Amazons without the boats. A small place the birds and wildlife and three children could call their own, a magic place, now long gone, the pine, willows, punga trees cut down, the land converted to pasture, the swamp drained, the creeks now only drains, the animals and birdlife and the three children grown and gone.