Quinn and I are meandering down the main fire trail when the bush rustles. I freeze and tighten the dog’s leash. My eyes follow a fast-moving wave of sound that explodes into a flying black wallaby. The animal’s over-sized feet land gently on the track ahead of us. Two bounds, and it’s once again engulfed by the bush.
Quinn twists and turns, straining, whimpering. Her muscular body is quivering. I hold onto her leash with both hands, planting my feet firmly on the sandstone path, preventing her from giving chase.
And then the rustle dies away. The wallaby has gone. It’s time to move on. I tug on Quinn’s leash, and she reluctantly picks up her feet. She follows me, her eyes looking over her shoulder: if only.
Until last summer, we often saw kangaroos and wallabies whenever we strolled along the tracks near our home. Then the marsupial mobs fled ahead of a fire that consumed our bush. Other animals disappeared too. For weeks after the flames burnt the trees black, the bush was silent. No kangaroos rustling through the undergrowth. No magpies swooping, kookaburras cackling, tiny wrens twittering. No sound but the wind that whooshed unarrested between the bare trees. The only life we saw was a few echidnas burrowing into the exposed soil and a lizard that lives in a clay pipe near the park.
But new leaves now cover the trees; the ground has swallowed the ash; the undergrowth is thickly sprouting. And the animals are crawling, flying, bounding back.
We saw a wallaby. Life is returning to normal. At least in the bush.
How did you feel, Sue? All those months when it seemed like life had fled from the charred bush? Did you quietly accept it knowing that it would live again?
Fires sometimes break out here when the drought stretches on. It’s nothing like what Australia faces, yet the landscape it leaves behind hurts so much.
Caitlynne,
Oh yes, fire appears to hurt the landscape. It roars through the bush leaving destruction behind it. It was rather shocking to see the naked black trees standing in a sea of ash for the first time. The bush smelt acrid and it looked unfamiliar. I felt sad but also relieved. The burnt bush was our protection. There was no fuel left to burn. Our homes that are close by were safe.
We knew the bush would regenerate. That’s the way it’s designed. I’ve been watching the new growth. It won’t take long for the bush to regain its beauty. In the meantime, it’s very unlikely another fire will threaten the bush and our homes any time soon. This year, we should have a low risk bushfire summer!
I learned something today – a burnt out bush diminishes the threat of a forest fire reaching you.
It must be a relief to know you’re a little safer this year.
Thank you for this post. Like the bush coming back to life, so will hope return to yearning hearts.
Caitlynne,
Your comments are such a delight. Thank you! Yes, we’re looking forward to a hopefully bushfire-free summer. We should be safe for a few years. Sometimes when I’m tempted to despair about the state of the world, I take comfort in nature. There is hope despite appearances.