AustLit

'Phillip Ward hurtles along the bush track like a wombat down its run, leaving me hopping rocks and dodging branches as they whip back behind him. Ward has lived on the skirts of the Field of Mars Reserve his whole life, and he is fiercely protective of it. "A lot of these trees aren't supposed to be here," he says, pointing out the ferals as we rush by. Some, like the silky oak, are natives but in the wrong place, planted by humans.'

 (Publication abstract)