Black Saturday
Feb. 9th, 2009 07:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katiefooleryThere’s something completely surreal about sitting in your safe home in suburbia, marvelling at a day of coldness and rain after a day of record heat the day before... and all the while, knowing that fires are raging barely fifty kilometres away from you.
Fires you can’t see.
Fires you can’t smell.
Fires that are destroying the town you grew up in. Fires that are killing people in that town and others nearby. Fires that are ravaging houses along the road on which you lived for most of your life.
I don’t know if the house I grew up in is even there any more. It hasn’t been my house for a while, ever since my parents sold and moved to Beechworth almost six years ago, but it was still there. Now it might not be. Now, it might just be a pile of smouldering wreckage in a landscape of devastation.
One hundred and eight people have died at the time of my writing this. People from the area I grew up in. The odds of my not knowing at least one of them are very slim.
People are still missing and unaccounted-for; I can only imagine the death toll will keep rising for some time yet.
There was a little town we used to visit when I was younger. It was gorgeous – so beautiful in Autumn when all the Autumn leaves fell on the leafy main street. Surrounded by bushland – cool in the Summer heat; shady and restful.
It doesn’t exist any more. It does not. Exist.
An entire town, gone just like that. Houses. Shops. Trees.
People.
Fire descended on towns like freight trains, like the fury of hell. “It rained fire" was how one survivor described it. Wind, heat, and flames. Flames that ran parallel to the ground, reaching out and devouring and never, ever stopping.
So you’re fire ready? You have your plan to escape?
Fire doesn’t care. It’s going to sweep down on you and it’s going to destroy everything. It’s the most horrific, unstoppable force of destruction you could ever possibly imagine.
Here’s a map from The Age:
The first arrow on the left is roughly where I live now. We’re literally about thirty or forty kilometres from the fires and there’s absolutely no evidence of them at all.
The second arrow is pointing at where I grew up. Right near a big fire.
The third arrow is where my parents live, next door to my brother and his fiancée. Oh yes, there’s another fire there. This one’s heading away from them now, and over towards another town. So while I’d love to be grateful that my family is safe, all I can feel is misery and concern for all the people who are now in its path.
And an article about my old home town: We Can See Flames. That building in the photo is one of only two pretty buildings in the entire town. I can only hope most of them are still standing.
More from my town: Wine Region Feels Blast of Blazing Inferno. The main picture is about half a kilometre from the town itself. The building is part of supposedly one of the oldest wineries in the state and appears to be miraculously intact.
This is the main article I keep refreshing compulsively: Death Toll Rises from Bushfires.
An appeal has been launched for donations through the Red Cross. The response from banks and business has been pretty much instantanenous, which is made even more remarkable by the current climate of economic uncertainty. It’s a little difficult to care too much about that when one hundred and eight people have died and thousands of people have been rendered homeless.
And yet, I’m here with my intact house and my cold weather and my lawn still damp from the rain earlier this morning. With my possessions. With the people I care about. With my cat.
I’ve never been more grateful for them all.
Fires you can’t see.
Fires you can’t smell.
Fires that are destroying the town you grew up in. Fires that are killing people in that town and others nearby. Fires that are ravaging houses along the road on which you lived for most of your life.
I don’t know if the house I grew up in is even there any more. It hasn’t been my house for a while, ever since my parents sold and moved to Beechworth almost six years ago, but it was still there. Now it might not be. Now, it might just be a pile of smouldering wreckage in a landscape of devastation.
One hundred and eight people have died at the time of my writing this. People from the area I grew up in. The odds of my not knowing at least one of them are very slim.
People are still missing and unaccounted-for; I can only imagine the death toll will keep rising for some time yet.
There was a little town we used to visit when I was younger. It was gorgeous – so beautiful in Autumn when all the Autumn leaves fell on the leafy main street. Surrounded by bushland – cool in the Summer heat; shady and restful.
It doesn’t exist any more. It does not. Exist.
An entire town, gone just like that. Houses. Shops. Trees.
People.
Fire descended on towns like freight trains, like the fury of hell. “It rained fire" was how one survivor described it. Wind, heat, and flames. Flames that ran parallel to the ground, reaching out and devouring and never, ever stopping.
So you’re fire ready? You have your plan to escape?
Fire doesn’t care. It’s going to sweep down on you and it’s going to destroy everything. It’s the most horrific, unstoppable force of destruction you could ever possibly imagine.
Here’s a map from The Age:
The first arrow on the left is roughly where I live now. We’re literally about thirty or forty kilometres from the fires and there’s absolutely no evidence of them at all.
The second arrow is pointing at where I grew up. Right near a big fire.
The third arrow is where my parents live, next door to my brother and his fiancée. Oh yes, there’s another fire there. This one’s heading away from them now, and over towards another town. So while I’d love to be grateful that my family is safe, all I can feel is misery and concern for all the people who are now in its path.
And an article about my old home town: We Can See Flames. That building in the photo is one of only two pretty buildings in the entire town. I can only hope most of them are still standing.
More from my town: Wine Region Feels Blast of Blazing Inferno. The main picture is about half a kilometre from the town itself. The building is part of supposedly one of the oldest wineries in the state and appears to be miraculously intact.
This is the main article I keep refreshing compulsively: Death Toll Rises from Bushfires.
An appeal has been launched for donations through the Red Cross. The response from banks and business has been pretty much instantanenous, which is made even more remarkable by the current climate of economic uncertainty. It’s a little difficult to care too much about that when one hundred and eight people have died and thousands of people have been rendered homeless.
And yet, I’m here with my intact house and my cold weather and my lawn still damp from the rain earlier this morning. With my possessions. With the people I care about. With my cat.
I’ve never been more grateful for them all.
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no subject
on 2009-02-08 09:13 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-09 09:27 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-08 09:14 pm (UTC)I feel so useless here. So, so useless, all I can do is wait for updates. I don't know what I would do if I was in the country, but I at least would have the option.
*throws more hugs into the pile*
please keep me updated, when you get the chance. and know my thoughts are with you. All my love. Keep you and your family safe and we'll rebuild houses when there's no more ash glowing.
no subject
on 2009-02-09 09:32 am (UTC)The fire came close enough, but it headed in a different direction, thankfully. I was talking to the Ma tonight and telling her that people she's never met were worried about them and sending good thoughts and wishes their way, which made her kind of surprised and thankful.
All you can do is wait for updates. And it's so frustrating because you want to be doing something but you know you'll either a) fail to think of something, or, b) just get in the way.
no subject
on 2009-02-08 09:21 pm (UTC)We had fires here in Peats Ridge, about 20 minutes away this weekend ... some horses died I believe but I'm not sure what else. We were with my parents in Newcastle and I all I could think about was what if it takes a turn for the worst and our kitty is stranded? I remember when my parents place narrowly escaped being burnt to the ground, all dad wanted to do was get home to let out the birds (Mum had taken the other animals) ... just so they had a fighting chance. We still have no clue how they all survived with fire so close.
Anyway, I'm rambling. I always consider Australia to be so lucky to escape so many severe weather conditions like earthquakes and most cyclones, but then bushfire season hits.
no subject
on 2009-02-09 09:35 am (UTC)We are a pretty lucky ocuntry generally. And then awful conditions combine to create the most unbelievable of disasters.
no subject
on 2009-02-09 12:45 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-08 09:50 pm (UTC)I hope your family (and you) stay safe, and that the fires can be controlled and extinguished as soon as possible.
no subject
on 2009-02-09 09:39 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-08 10:04 pm (UTC)I hope that the fires are put out soon, and that you, your family, and the people in your area (and their houses) all remain safe.
no subject
on 2009-02-09 09:52 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-08 10:06 pm (UTC)My thoughts are with everyone affected, and I hope that you and yours continue to be safe.
no subject
on 2009-02-09 09:54 am (UTC)Thankfully, my family appears to be safe. I'm just so damned grateful for every little thing right now and wishing I could do something more to help.
no subject
on 2009-02-08 10:13 pm (UTC)Ive been out the last few days and i come home. I have rural firefighter friends and they have been that busy that i havent heard from them about what fires they are at, so if they arent in Victoria yet, im sure they are going to be sent.
Im so glad that your family and yourself are safe hun.
no subject
on 2009-02-09 10:06 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-08 10:23 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-09 10:17 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-08 11:21 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-09 10:19 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-08 11:24 pm (UTC)Ah well, we must do what we can. I'm trying to rally my co-workers into donating goods en masse. I was only complaining yesterday that I had too many blankets ...
no subject
on 2009-02-09 10:28 am (UTC)I don't think it's even possible to donate too much.
no subject
on 2009-02-08 11:41 pm (UTC)Contrast this to the fact that literally two-thirds of Queensland (over one million square kilometres) is flooded.
I know a paramedic who just moved to Alexandra - his skills will surely be appreciated there now.
no subject
on 2009-02-09 10:30 am (UTC)And yeah, your friend in Alexandra is probably being over-worked and incredibly appreciated right now. :)
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on 2009-02-08 11:52 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-09 10:45 am (UTC)Thank-you for your thoughts. :)
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on 2009-02-09 12:19 am (UTC)Stay safe please. *hugs again*
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on 2009-02-09 10:46 am (UTC)I'm safe. My family is safe (and grateful for the thoughts and wishes of people they don't know). :)
no subject
on 2009-02-09 01:06 am (UTC)This is just awful. I don't know what to do, but I'll be going through my enormous stuffed toy collection and taking out a good portion to send down south. I can't afford to give money, but I'll see what I have that I can give.
And they're estimating a possible 170 dead.
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on 2009-02-09 10:48 am (UTC)Please, please do send those stuffed toys. So many kids will be grateful beyond words to have them.
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on 2009-02-09 03:19 am (UTC)Please keep us updated.
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on 2009-02-09 10:49 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-09 03:31 am (UTC)I can't really believe it yet. :/
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on 2009-02-09 10:49 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-10 01:10 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-09 01:58 pm (UTC)*hugs again*
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on 2009-02-10 01:11 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-09 05:39 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-09 10:52 am (UTC)My poor, ugleh childhood town. :(
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on 2009-02-09 08:11 am (UTC)Also that last line about your cat basically brought me to tears. For the love of god hug your cat.
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on 2009-02-09 10:51 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-09 12:04 pm (UTC)The whole thing is terrible, but it's just awful about Marysville. We stayed in a nice little house there a few summers ago - I'm guessing it's probably burned down by now. I get upset seeing photos of the main street.
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on 2009-02-09 12:15 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-09 12:34 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-10 06:19 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-09 03:19 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-10 06:21 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-09 07:50 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-10 06:21 am (UTC)