It's Been a While.....

...since I have blogged. To be perfectly honest, with the drought killing my garden, there hasn't been much to report home about.

But today we took a drive up through Kinglake and Flowerdale for the first time since Black Saturday. And to use a much used phrase, nothing can prepare you for it. You would think after all this time, there would be a bit more greenery, but there's not. Surprisingly though every little spot of green is a pure marvel - greener than any green you have ever seen. It's not until you drive out the other side before you realise that the green is still washed out, drought riddled and not the colour of Ireland at all.

It's hard to describe that first sight of burning on the mountain you have always known, you see it from a distance long before you see the scarred bits. The first sight is through trees and you aren't quite sure if you saw it or not - the skeletons of trees. Then as you drive out of Whittlesea, the first signs become apparent, I didn't realise how close it actually got to the town. Your breath catches and your eyes sting as the tears are held back. There is no relief as you climb up into the mountain, every tree is burnt, there is not enough cover. Normally the trees hug you close and you feel sheltered, not today!

Today I saw right through the trees to parts of the mountain I never knew existed, it was like peering into a persons soul and seeing all the secrets they never wanted revealed. There is a long stretch of the road that winds through, and then the houses appear. I am surprised to see them standing, some have rows of burnt trees so close that you wonder if a God does exist and why he chose to save this house and not the one next to it? Truly there is nothing sadder than a lone chimney, standing nude on the hill, no longer protected by its house.

We drove through Kinglake, we saw the houses missing, we saw the shops missing, we saw a lone blanket on the side of the road and we saw the occasional puddle of metal that was once part of a car. But what we were most eager to see was Flowerdale, you see, we very nearly wound up living there a few years back. As were drove in, the shape of the hills felt right, but nothing was where it should be. So many of the familiar houses were gone. Then we realised that the empty spot we were staring at was the remains of one of the houses we inspected. Which meant that on the other side of the road was the farm we were outbid on. What we saw was the remains of a shed - that was it. It is very humbling to know that we escaped death and we didn't even know it. I am so thankful to know that the people who did buy the farm were part time farmers, and they would probably not have been there on the day.

Actually, there is something sadder than the lone chimneys, and that is the dents in the safety barriers. Three months on and the roads are cleared of all the horrors that were presented to us on the news, in the papers, on YouTube. But nothing can hide the fact that these dents were caused by trees, great big trees that fell. Great big trees that fell and then prevented people from fleeing the mountain. Each one of these dents represents people who lost their lives. And seeing them over and over again does not ease the pain, it just makes it more obvious just how horrific it was up the mountain on Black Saturday.

Victorian Bushfires

Last Saturday we lost power due to the extreme heat. It was the hottest day on Victorian record. I had been checking the CFA website all day as I have relatives and friends who live in rural areas. All was fine as we packed up and headed to my in laws for dinner. An hour and a half later we arrived home to discover that Kinglake, Marysville and Narbethong had been wiped off the map.

It's hard to describe exactly how I felt. Four days on and I still don't believe it. Saturday night though, was spent staring at the CFA website. They were filling in fires so quickly that only the suburb was listed. We still have friends we haven't heard from since Saturday. While our immediate family is safe, we are still in mourning over the loss of lives. We still can't believe that something of this magnitude could happen in our backyard.

I watch the world news and stare in disbelief as globally Kinglake is bought to the world, and the irony that this has happened because there is no longer anything there. I listen to the stories that friends tell me of people who escaped, their friends, their families, their colleagues. We hear of the stories of their friends, families and colleagues who didn't make it. It rips my heart from my soul to hear these unbelievable stories. These horror stories, these stories that will go down in history along with the worst natural disaster this country has ever seen.

As I write this, the winds are picking up again. By Friday they are expecting the fires to break containment lines. I wonder when the horror will end. I wonder which other towns will be wiped from the map, how many more lives will be lost.

Summer Heat

Today is the third day in a row that Melbourne has recorded temperatures in the 40s. It's a new record apparently. Some people seem to get excited over things like that.

For me, though, I just peek out of the window every so often and watch another plant dry to a crisp. Occasionally I venture outside in the heat that is so hot and dry that you don't even sweat. So far we haven't lost any chickens, but I watch and I worry as they hang their wings and pant until they cough. There are no fire threats near us, but we are buffered in suburbia. Still I worry.

Two years ago we breathed the smoke and haze for days as the closest national park burned. It was terrifying even though we live half and hours drive away. I feared for the people who lived through it, who fought for their properties, who rescued injured animals, who saved lives. How they managed through all the smoke, I do not know. It was hard for us to breathe and we were no where near the danger zone.

Today I smell the air as I feed the chooks and while there is no smoke on it, it smells very much like it would the second before a flame erupts. Everywhere I look, I see parched and barren ground, the very skeleton of the earth baring its soul. I fear I will lose at least one of our orange trees, many of my vines are dead and gone already. Beans hang on a vine that has dehydrated beyond redemption. I suspect all I may be left with are the corn and tomatoes and the dill that scents the air as I hang out clothes that are dry before they are pegged.

When will winter come?