The weekend from hell

It’s hard to articulate the horror of the past couple of weeks. I consider myself one of the lucky ones, I am safe, so are my family members and my home. Many didn’t fair this well. If you’ve been living under a rock, you’d not know that Australia has been on fire and continues to burn, lives and livelihoods have been lost, thousands of homes destroyed and millions of animals have perished. It’s an absolute shit show.

Unfortunately the fire has impacted the place I call home. It always felt like bush fires (or wildfires as they’re known in other parts of the world) happened to other people, burnt in other places, but here they are, lapping at our door steps and they also happen to be the worst bush fires in Australian history. The fire closest to us is over 160,000 hectares!

The worst day in my neck of the woods was Saturday the 4th January, what I now refer to as the apocalypse. We started our day somewhat cautiously but enjoyed a beautiful ocean swim regardless, but, it ended sleeping roadside in a park in another coastal town further north (deemed safe) in our smoke filled caravan, tired, terrified and unsure if we’d have a home to return to when we woke from a restless sleep. My daughter and I (leaving the husband dooms day prepping at home) had bailed to the coast on the Friday with van in tow. We packed important bits and pieces, some random clothing, grabbed some food supplies and headed off on what we thought would be a night or two on the coast whilst this fire business did it’s thing and we’d be back home, back to normal soon enough. Fuck a duck, was I wrong.

Waiting it out

Hell hath no fury like Mother Nature scorned, and frankly I don’t blame her. Something eerie and foreboding loomed that Saturday afternoon. The wind whipped thick smoke and ash this way and that, visibility became difficult, the sky turned an angry red mid afternoon and by 5pm it was pitch dark. There seem to be no current updates on the fire supposedly impacting us, so while outside the signs were there, we tried to remain calm and keep the mood light. Then we got the knock on the door.

The Border Fire (the one that tore through poor Mallacoota) was set to hit our town within hours, if we planned to leave we must decide pronto. Our original fire plan just went out the window. The local wharf seemed like the next logical safe place to head next, we’d been offered a somewhat safer space to bunker in, so we hastily grabbed what we could and off we slowly rolled, in procession. There were seven of us plus four dogs, we agreed no matter what, we made decisions together and stuck together. To add further stress to our evacuation situation, we had a pregnant woman in our care, because evacuating isn't scary enough as a non-pregnant person right?!

As safe as the wharf probably was, it could not be guaranteed and we needed to make sure our precious pregnant cargo had access to medical assistance if required. So after a family meeting of sorts (my daughter took charge at this point, I was starting to lose it), we piled back in our vehicles bound for a little further north. The husband finally joined us at this point much to my relief and again in convoy, we headed for safer territory.

This is where we spent the next two nights, the second of those nights, in a strange but happy turn of events, was in a holiday house that was very generously donated to us by a complete stranger for free! There are still some good eggs out there. We had comfortable beds, Netflix, we even sat down for a delicious meal. A little sliver of normality in the wake of a terrifying time. It was another night after this before we got the all clear to head home. For a short time anyway.

Roadside evacuation. There's a lake behind the smoke haze

This seems like such a watered down version of what took place, like I mentioned right back at the beginning, it’s a hard story to convey. The panic, fear and sick-in-the-guts anxiety that grips you through the whole experience is like nothing I’ve ever been through before. And never want to again. I haven’t even touched on the other layers to this saga. Like the Tuesday prior to D-day when the stranded tourists in our local towns cleaned us out of fuel and basic food supplies before evacuating the area for safer places. The stress that came from leaving my husband at home to do all the bush fire preparation because he couldn’t bare to sit back and watch 20 years of hard work be taken away from us without at-least trying to save it. Leaving my Mum behind at the wharf for a night, breaking our stick-together rule, because she didn’t want to slow us down driving north to safety. Getting a knock on the door less than a week later from the riot squad no less to recommend we evacuate yet again in the wake of more unfavourable weather. The not sleeping properly, the not eating properly, the smoke inhalation. I’ve nicknamed it the bush fire diet, I do not endorse this form of weight loss but it certainly rid me of the Christmas tum I'd happily gained before shit got very, very real.

What surprised me during this ordeal was as much as social media was vital in staying up-to-date with what was happening around us, at the same time I felt suddenly repulsed by it in the days following. It was I think sensory overload, the loss, the anger, the fear, the anxiety, social media was feeding those feelings within myself and it can swallow you up if you’re not careful. There has been SO much good circulating which I cannot disregard but the spewing of hate I also witnessed was of epic proportions. I found this rather distressing.

Of course I too am mad, I’m frustrated, I’m upset, I’m sad, it’s like everything is the same but it’s not, and that is unsettling. For me right now, I need quiet, I crave normal. I consciously choose action over reaction. What that action looks like is personal, it will look different for each of us, but action is absolutely critical. And it's the individual actions of all of us collectively that will see the change we need in the world. I feel a burning (no pun intended) in my gut to do more, up the anti, particularly in the ways I can help our environment, local businesses and our poor fauna. If there is anything good to come of this cluster fuck of events, it’s that the time is now. No more buggerising around.

Local chip mill up in flames

I am resolved to the fact that we now have to live with a beast in our backyard (yep, the fire continues to burn just a few km's from home), some days the air is clear and others are not. Ash still settles all around our property and we are still prepared to evacuate and defend our home again if needed. This is not the summer I had envisioned and not how we want to spend future summers either. If this is not the catalyst for change, be buggered if I know what is? I'm so interested to hear from you dear reader, how has this catastrophic event changed your perspective and what are you feeling pulled to do about it?

Peace out homies,

xx Kara