It is the late 1960s. Rebellion and "doing your own thing" is in. But while the majority of Australians flock to the beaches, one young man heads inland to find his patch of dirt and follow his dream.
On the banks of Moonan Brook, surrounded by inhospitable and barely accessible bushland, a local on his horse stumbles across this twenty-three-year old with his inappropriate vehicle, a dog named Doggo, and a girlfriend sitting under a tree reading a book. He listens as the pale young city-slicker with a mannered accent tells him he wants to go bush.
What drives him over the next fifty years to build and maintain a bush hut in challenging terrain will captivate the imagination as the dreamt-of patch materialises, a hut is built and grows, and the forest "tamed".
Henry Lawson or Henry Thoreau?
Along the way we catch glimpses of his fellow travellers who come and go over the years, each contributing in their own way to the fulfilment of one man's unwavering vision. Romances form and fade, friendships will span generations and continents. And through it all threads the forest: its plants, its creatures, its quiet power.
