WHEN THE SUN RISES ON ELEUTHERA, A HUNDRED-MILE SWEEP of rock and sand in the Bahamian archipelago, a primeval world awakens: Bahama mockingbirds warble from somewhere in the pines, pink rain lilies stretch open their petals, and in their 650-square-foot hut tucked into the sea grapes and silver buttonwood, Melissa and Jacob Brillhart and their five-year-old daughter, Simms, greet the day.
At first glance, the “Brillhut,” as friends have dubbed the house, is almost indistinguishable from the thicket of flora around it. But the chance of anyone getting close
