Wacky Wood

When I was seven or eight years old, my father worked as a supervisor for the state railway, and he got tickets for the whole family to cross the Nullarbor Plain on the Indian Pacific.



To a seven year old, an overnight train journey is a magical adventure. Especially when it involves a dining car, and a view out the window of the sleeping car of kangaroos lolling in shrub-spotted ochre expanses and wildflowers peeking out the cracks in the desert floor.

The whole of Western Australia turned out to be a magical adventure, thanks to the efforts of my mother - crystal caves, rock formations like breaking waves and pick-your-own strawberry farms.

But the one thing that gave me a shiver of fear and delight was some place called Wacky Wood.

Is it still there? What was it? My recollections are dream-like and the place, if it ever existed, no longer appears to be Googleable.

I remember a carved wooden sign in the shape of a gnarled, pointed finger. Were there crazed sculptures? Glowing owl eyes? Tree men frozen in the act of yanking their roots out of the earth and menacing passing travellers?

It reminded me of the Wicked Witch's forest in the Wizard of Oz. Or the Enchanted Orchard where the apple trees get cranky with Dorothy.

It occurred to me that I could have the Enchanted Orchard as the theme for my new front garden.

There's room for loads of trees there, and once established, they'd be more attractive and much less work than, say, rows of parsley, shallots and broad beans.

I got in touch with my archery coach and friend, woodcarver Peter Smith (here is an example of his superb work):

...and asked him to carve me a Green Man.

The last time I asked for a commission (the unicorn horn), he told me it was the last time!

But I couldn't help myself. I know he'll come up with something perfect for what I have in mind.

The Enchanted Orchard. Wickedly delicious. With sprites waiting to leap out at the unwary.