What buying a one-room shack in the middle of nowhere taught me

Coasting down from the mountaintop finish of the 125-kilometre Giro della Donna bike event into Warburton, I had a vision.

It was of me, rolling out of my own place in Warburton right to the starting line of the event. I could see this so clearly that when it actually happened on the race morning in 2018, I couldn’t stop smiling.

I discovered the shack while trying to buy the block next door. I don’t actually know what I would have done with that treed block next door. I had neither the skills, nor interest, in constructing something myself.

Six months later, the owner of the shack rang me as I was driving to Sydney for Easter. Was I still interested? Fifteen minutes later, we’d agreed on a price. Better than chocolate.

I “flipped” it the week of settlement. There wasn’t much to do. My kids and I cleaned the one-room shack’s tiny 10-metre x 10-metre floor space, and swept out its timber platform “bathroom in the ferns”.

It had been on Airbnb for years and, even though it wasn’t my plan, after I unrolled one of those mattresses in a box I realised it was a great space to share.

In 10 months, Airbnb helped me make back about 10 per cent of the purchase price.

Once the shack was set up, I booked our family in for time away, and went up there myself once a week to clean and replenish supplies.

I got to know the Superb Fairy-wrens as they’d flit around, tapping the windows and keeping me company. I met the local swamp wallaby. I found wombat poo carefully placed in high places (it’s a dominance thing, apparently).

I’d fallen in love with the quarter-acre block of temperate rainforest.

As the weather warmed up (settlement was the first day of winter), I started walking across the road to what felt like my very own section of the Yarra. I swam and read books by the river, never quite believing that it runs all the way to Melbourne, 70 kilometres from here by road.

We don’t do much on our trips to the shack. Apart from clearing a few ferns fronds, we chill out, read books, burn bracken and toast marshmallows.

There is resistance though. My 13-year-old protests loudly each time I talk about going to the shack.

But we’ve discovered a lot to do up there, including taking friends to the redwood forest and cycling the Warburton trail to Lilydale. He soon forgets that there’s no electricity or wi-fi.

Our first summer at the shack revealed other highlights. While Melbourne sweltered, we bought lilos and my son spent entire days floating down the river from our shack into town. My six-year old is thrilled with the rapids.

I also go up for events: I backed up a half-marathon at the Warburton Up and Running Festival with a long weekend of trail-running and cheering at the Warburton Trail Fest. My son won the five-kilometre trail run.

As we drove back to Melbourne (and wi-fi), my son holding his timber trophy next to me, it dawned on me that each time we come up here, we’re creating stories about the place. We’re really making it our own.