Fire fear
The night before
Watching TV alone. A news report comes on. A familiar image, a bush fire tearing through scrub. Just like the images that I've seen every summer of my life. This is different. It's different because the news reporter identifies the area as Gippsland. You know, the place where I and most of the people I know LIVE. Speak to TV, asking where in Gippsland, what town what Shire, WHERE. Channel 7 news beams images of smoke causing problems at the tennis. Swear at TV. Walk outside. Breath in. Choke. Go back inside to escape smoke. Throw a cushion at the TV. Know that the fire isn't close enough to be a threat, and it's late enough at night for that to be satisfaction. But it doesn't quell the fear.
The next morning.
Get up, get dressed, walk into the dining room. Look out the big North facing windows and realize that the ever-present mountain range is invisible. The familiar blue has been white-washed out, and there is smoke swirling in the yard. Step outside and into a wall of heat. It's 40C already. That's bad. Test the wind. A slight easterly. That's good. Check the radio. A man from the CFA is talking on ABC. I get a location on the fire in Gippsland and some information. The CFA have held it through the night and have it contained. Some relief. Make some calls. More relief. Go to CFA web sight. Information always helps. The Fire Fear remains, but can be ignored.
Afternoon
The mountains are back. I know that this is only because the wind has changed from east to west and is blowing the smoke away from us. West winds are not good on days like this, so the superficial signs are counciled out.
Evening
The mountains are just white shadows, but the eucalyptus scented smoke isn't as thick. As the light fades the air takes on a almost glowing eary quality. My faith in the CFA keeps the Fire Fear at bay. I'm still pissed off at channel 7 news. I don't care about the tennis or Princess Mary or any of that other stuff. There are some things they need to say.
The Fire Fear
I guess it's in everyone to some level. The primitive fear the wells up in our guts when the smoke is in the air, when the heat is fiece and strong and a burning nor'wester blows in. Images of the red flame against green and brown. Down here we don't get earthquakes or hurricanes or tsunami's. (yet). We get drouts and fires. I had almost got to thinking that the nice wet Gippsland and her Vally neighbor are immune. The lush grass that stars green even through summer and the dams that rarely dry out lull you into a false sense of security. The self-healing bush is full of fire scars of all ages, lending folly to that notion, but the false safety remains. We don't have a fire plan because our house is surrounded by so much green pasture that the chances of a fire reaching are quite unlikely. On days like these I tend to think that if a bad fire came along, the kind they talk about for generation after, an Ash Wendsday or a Black Friday, the kind that makes helpless fire fighters pray for rain. If that happened, the plains of green would do nothing. The Fire Fear is in me, it is what remains of human instinct. Deep and primitive, it will kill any interest in the tennis.
posted by iggi @ 11:05 am
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