While the east coast is confronted for another disaster, I will visit the memories of Black Summer again

Long after New Year’s Day 2020 I wondered if I would ever return to Bermagui.

The small, blue crook in the coastline that runs between Bateman’s Bay and the Victorian border had become a accidental summer house after we had been introduced by friends. Too far from Sydney and too far from Melbourne, it fell between the preferences of the most hurried holiday makers of the family, and for years we thought we had it for ourselves.

These are the countries of the Djiringanj clan of the Yuin Nation: fertile hills that roll to a coastline rich in food and marine life – you can pick the oysters of the rocks. The township is in a harbor that closest closest to the land of the continental plank, deep sea fishing, on just a short boat trip.

It is just a beautiful place, with a beautiful community, increasingly accompanied by makers and craftsmen as the years have been led.

But the last time I saw this sunny congregation, the light had become a horrible orange: the summer sun lost black smoke behind tall clouds, the waves of horseshoe bay pushed soft soot to the coast.

Tourists and the locals got together in the Surf Club and listened to the SES. We were told that only one road to the north had been opened again, but nobody knew how long, and, if we could, we had to leave. Now.

Memories of Black Summer

It was New Year’s Day and we were in a city that few people had expected to survive further than New Year’s Eve. The disastrous Cobargo -Brand dedicated us that night. We were saved by that mystery of persistent Australian legend: the last minute of wind change. A local voluntary firefighter I know tells me that the edge of the city had 15 minutes left that evening.

I never wanted to claim that trauma was in that fire: that seemed self -pity when Black Summer lasted so much. And our next attempt to return was demolished to just one day, because we had to turn around and race to the border to beat a Covid -Lockdown. I will admit that I was too sad and too worried to return. So we didn’t do that. So far, in a time of another distant disaster.

I stand on the fine sand of Horseshoe Bay, to the face where the Tasman Sea reaches to the Pacific Ocean, and I can merge my two realities: the drifting weather of the cyclone north of me, lead clouds and rain that worry about the worrying news; And the black shadow of that fiery summer south of me – a memory that this community will never shake.

We were on vacation with friends that night when the report came through, and we closed the house and patrolled the circumference as the orange glow became stronger, and the sun simply refused to rise in the smoke -solving air. We were at sea, as far to the east as the disaster warnings had encouraged us to go. The only next step was on the beach.

It is a body gemory that still lives in me. When I wake up in Melbourne for the smell of smoke from a planned burn or a distant bushfire, my stomach and my jaw fails. Somewhere in the question there is urgent: what is the plan? Where is Russell, where is Addison? Where are my shoes? (I was obsessed with anyone who held his shoes in the night of the threat: our children threw them away forever to sit and play while we were anxiously huddling and strategic. I followed the young people around and had them set up again, ready to flee.)

After most of us have fled, the municipality was left without water or strength for many days; And the fire brigade threatened that terrible summer to return twice before the comfort of autumn settled.

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A resilient community

Here in this heavy, moist wind from the east, I am thinking of the modern coastal life between the climate challenges of fire from the land and storms from the sea, and the narrow and shrinking strip of land that represents the possibility of life here.

It is still so beautiful – old rocks on the horizon and an azure blue sea. The wild beauty of Australia makes grit and resilience possible – it is something we will fight for. Even if the fighting becomes so much more difficult.

This weekend you can read about an even more important efficiency: the restoration of gray gliders in the blue mountains after the forest fires that heralded that terrible summer. And we also have new books that you can search.

You can read this on International Women’s Day, so let me celebrate by sharing this beautiful and important Commemoration of serious historical errorsand by playing this idiot“ Through another Scottish bile, to go with it.

Since the east coast is confronted with a different disaster, remember that recovery is possible

Have a safe and happy weekend. I will play this if I come back for a long weekend on a brave and resilient community.

Go well.

Virginia Trioli is a presenter of creative types and a former fellow guest of ABC News Breakfast and Mucks on ABC Radio Melbourne.