Of fire and rain

Or being at the mercy of the elements

There was a fire. A very big fire. It was about thirty kilometres to the west of us, with an easterly wind blowing it away. But the smoke loomed high in the sky. It glowed with the flames’ reflection. We were not in danger but tension hung in the air, drifting through with the smell of smoke. The water bombers flew overhead, going from fire to water source and back, the drone of their engines filling the quiet.

The fire burnt for days. Talk of it dominated conversations. Thoughts of it dominated minds. 

It became quickly apparent that the fire was suspicious, deliberately lit. “Why?” People asked. “Who does that sort of thing? In what universe does someone decide it would be a good idea?”

And on the heels of those thoughts: “What if they light another?” And, of course: “Hope they catch them.” And: “I’d like a few minutes alone with the arsonist!” Anger flaring like flames.

Fire crews fought day and night. “It was like Mordor,” one guy said to me afterwards. “There should be a special place in hell for arsonists,” said another.

The conditions were favourable for fire fighting, despite the forest being so very dry. The wind blew gently and then not at all and then gently again. Some light rain fell. The fire was contained. Controlled. The risk nullified.

For days soot and charcoal wash up along the beach, lines of it deposited by the waves. I think of the trees that grew, burnt now, their fragments cast to the wind, fallen to the sea, washed back onto land. A cycle of sorts. I felt heavy with it. Sad. 

A week after the fire started, I donned my PPE and went out on the fire truck to help with mopping up. The blackened bush on one side of the road, scorched to crown height. On the other side, the paddock, unburnt save for pock marks where dry cow pats had spontaneously combusted from the latent heat. The boundary where the fire crews held the blaze.

For hours, we dragged hoses around and soaked the smoking grasses. The ground was so hot the water boiled as it hit the earth.

Then, the next day, rain. Glorious, glorious rain. Long, slow, soaking rain. Widespread. Falling lightly for hours. For a day and half I help out at a horse riding event, which meant I spend a lot of time standing in the rain, soaked to the skin. It was impossible to complain. We had waited so long for this. The earth had waited so long for this. It fell like a blessing. 

A shimmer of green covered the paddocks within days. The dust was washed from the trees. Puddles appeared on the road. Our creek started to flow again. The speed of the change was remarkable. Suddenly, it is hard ot believe that a fortnight ago it felt as if it might never rain again.

A day of sunshine followed the days of rain. I met a neighbour out walking, our dogs wanting to play. “Glorious day,” she said. “Yes,” I replied. And we laughed about how much more appealing the sunshine is when the ground is wet. I walked on, breathing in the smell of the wet forest. It feels full of life and promise.

See you outside,

Jill

Inside

I have news! Big news. What’s for Dinner? has been shortlisted for the WA Premier’s Book of the Year Award. I am beyond excited. The winner will be announced on 7 June. Cross your fingers for me!

I have a few events coming up. If you happen to be in Western Australia’s Great Southern, come along to the Broomehill Book Bash and say hello. I’m delighted to finally be sharing a stage with my friend Viki Cramer, whose fabulous book The Memory of Trees is also on the Book of the Year shortlist. Viki and I supported each other as we wrote out books and they were both published by Thames and Hudson Australia within a month of each other. For years we’ve talked about doing an event together and this month that will come true. We’ll be talking about our shared journey to publication, the way landscapes feature in our books, and how local stories can be used to illuminate global issues. Other WA writers including Nathan Hobby and Renae Pettit-Schipp will also be there. Check out the full list on the link above.