The workshop was on the hillside, above Wilderness Farm, backing on to the wood that clothed the ground sloping up to the top of the ridge. Stav was working on a six-sided table, which took up most of the floor space inside the workshop. The walls were covered with equipment and materials, stored on shelves and cupboards or hanging from hooks or nails, and in the back wall, a lattice door opened onto the wood.

The roof of the workshop was corrugated iron sheet, supported on stout posts, and Stav pointed out the small amount of moss just visible at the top of a corner post, squeezed beneath the corrugated iron roof.

Then, as we talked, a wren appeared at the door and flew across to its nest on top of the post. It fed the chicks in the nest, with no concern for us, and then departed through the open front of the workshop, going back to its busy work in the wood.

Within five minutes, it was back with another batch of insect food for its youngsters, again coming through the back of the workshop and through the lattice door. I noticed that it paused momentarily on the door before flying up to the nest, so I set up the camera on the tripod with the lens aiming at the gap in the door and waited.

Over a period of an hour, there were about a dozen visits, and the wren showed little concern for me and none for the surrounding paraphernalia around the place. It obviously saw no distinction between the wood it was hunting in and the artificial environment it had chosen to make its home.