A fiery Friday

The final photo album has been returned to the cupboard shelf and I have hung the last photo frame to the hallway wall. The clothes, we packed, are back in their drawers and the computer, I am typing on, is one of the many valuables we chose to take when the evacuation calls came through, late on the night of Friday, January 4^th. 

The fire warnings have reduced to ‘Advice’, for now, but I continue to re -apply the masking tape holding the towels over the vents on the house, the smoke is strong and will permeate the entire house if allowed. The doors are opened only to necessitate movements in and out and the sprinklers remain active ensuring the area surrounding the house is wet. The emergency application on my phone is also set to notify me of any changes. 

This fire, which has all the signs of being deliberately lit, has changed some of our beautiful landscape forever. It has also changed us.

The Rosedale fire, as I suspect it will be known, started 6.3 kilometres from the township and quickly became a major bush fire, heading into pine plantations. Yesterday, it had burnt more than 10,000 hectares, but thankfully no homes or lives have been lost. An updated warning, just received, states the fire continues to spread towards other areas, where farmland and livestock are at risk. It is not yet under control; the winds have increased again. My heart breaks for the hundreds of firefighters, volunteers for the most part, who are risking their own lives and leaving their own families, to valiantly take on a blaze intent on ravishing the land that is crisp and dry. They are heroes in every sense of the title. 

Returning from moving the sprinklers I cannot help but notice the hundreds of burnt leaves that litter the ground, scorched and blackened they have travelled far, some of the recognizable leaves are from trees that do not grow in our area. The capacity for the fire to continue spreading from embers is very real. It is this reality that drove our decisions Friday night. 

Earlier in the day, we had enjoyed a belated birthday breakfast with friends in Traralgon, the forecast for the day was set for 43 degrees, with hot winds. It had all the making of a bad day for fires. We had then arranged to have our delightful granddaughter come home with us for a sleepover. We had plans for puzzles, making purple jelly, feeding chickens wheat and collecting bread for the cows after a trip to the beach and a play in the park, all before mum and dad came to pick her up on Saturday night after enjoying a family meal together. The jelly was made and the puzzles played but then I made the call for our precious girl to go home. It was no longer safe. 

We saw the plumes of smoke clouds as we drove home and commented, with some concern, on the increasing size of the fire but remained secure in that it was quite a long way from our farm and heading in the opposite direction. We knew the firefighters where already there and anticipated they would have it under control. But severe winds, fueled the flames and by early evening the skies had blackened over our property and ash was falling on our heads. 

Earlier in the afternoon, with temperatures hovering in the low 40s it was stifling outside, fiercely the sun beat down and hot sweat poured off Daryl’s body as he rounded up the cattle from our morass and pushed them up to higher ground. An ember in our bushland would be disastrous. So, we flooded the chicken and alpaca’s pen with water, allowing them to wallow in the mud to cool off, set the sprinkler to full-speed and watched skywards with heavy hearts, beating faster than usual. 

Checking on neighbours, some older, some solo, another with two small children, it was heartening to see everyone work together to ensure we were all safe. By 10pm the hostile winds had turned and another fire, started by falling embers was now heading in our direction. The ‘watch and act’ warning was now upgraded. This was not expected and the conversations of the previous hours heralded us into action. It was now time to gather our valuables and get out. Adrenaline is your friend in times of trauma, as is modern technology and people power. We were comforted by the many calls and messages of help received from family and friends, it is comforting to know people care. We needed to make decisions, fast, and all of a sudden it seemed too hard. How do you determine what is valuable, what can I leave behind? This is our home and we had the luxury of time to ponder and consider. The fire front was still far enough away from us and so the urgency lessened, giving us an opportunity to grab photos frames, albums put together long before the age of digital photography and the iCloud. These would be irreplaceable. Filling the cars with our goods, we cramped the two cats indignantly into a small cat cage, made for one, along with the three dogs, ready to pick up Bek from work and head to our son and daughter-in-law’s home in the next town, knowing we were leaving our cattle, chooks and alpacas at the mercy of Mother Nature. Embracing Daryl before jumping into separate cars, the tears we both shed blended together, and we knew we would have to come back and protect them. This farm, with nearly fifty years of memories, refuses to let us go. In an instant I knew I didn’t want to lose it, if I had the choice. As we drove away, I prayed we would have the chance to make that choice. 

A sleepless night followed, I served up some food at 2 am and we listened and watched. Mother Nature must have heard us and the wind turned the fire away from us. We breathed a little easier. Yesterday, saw a neighborhood of fatigued farmers continue to be vigilant, we kept the cars packed, just in case. We talked about our good fortune. Daryl and I pondered what we would do differently, if there is ever a next time. We slept like rocks.

The fire still burns and at Daryl’s last calculation the front is three kilometers from the river that is the boundary of our farm. Maybe, I should have left the cars packed.

Until next time,

N.