fire…and fear

What is your greatest fear?” they asked.

Spiders, snakes, public speaking, remembering you forgot to wear underwear? None of these.

For me it is fire - bushfire. A wildfire heading for me and mine.

This fear is a partly the result of exposure to extremely catastrophic wildfires that had terrorised the densely forested and mountainous area outside Melbourne not far from where I had lived in the Dandenong Ranges, Victoria.

It is also a result of my own stupidity. Stupidity with near devastating consequences for me and for the side of the mountain on which I was then living.

One warm Saturday I decided to do a ‘burn-off’ in the front yard of my home in the Dandenong Ranges. The idea was that this would reduce the combustible ground cover and make the yard safer in the hot summer bushfire season.

I raked leaves and bark from the eucalypt trees into a huge pile and set them alight.

I had good intentions.

I was barelegged in short shorts. I had a thin t-shirt and a pair of rubber thongs on my feet.

No hose. No bucket of water in case of emergency. Just a box of matches and alot of flammable material.

One of my German Shepherd dogs was relaxing by the fire.

No idea.

The burn pile quickly became fully alight. Eucalypts are highly combustable material. The flames rose higher and the fire grew very hot.

But then I realised that the fire had jumped to the adjoining tree. Stupidly I watched as the base of the tree caught fire. The bark was burning and flames were heading up the tree.

As I looked skyward I realised with horror that the canopy of this tree merged with thousands of similarly flammable trees covering this side of the mountain.

Embryonic wildfire. My fault.

Panic. Fast moving legs. Screaming.

Saved by a neighbour and his high pressure water hose. We drained his water tanks putting that tree out.

I felt such shame after this. And fear. Fear of fire.

Did not know fear like that til it hit me.

But this is not my greatest fear.

My greatest fear is loss of my loved ones.

It is greater than sadness or grief - these are what come later, after shock subsides. These are what remain.

I can do nothing to prevent what is, at some point, inevitable.

Each day we wake and think it is just another day. But some days are not ‘just another day’.

Some days are like facing a wildfire. And I fear that wildfire.