Tears, dust, ashes - and celebration.

Last Friday I cancelled a lunch and went to St Paul’s Cathedral in
Melbourne to attend a memorial service for the bushfire victims – twelve days ago, today.
Tears, dust and ashes – a service for those affected by the Victorian bushfires – of prayer, hope and remembrance.
It was Friday 13 February – a day regarded by many as full of gloom. Gloom there was not on this occasion, just sadness, reflection and celebration. Candles were lit and white stones placed on the altar by representatives of each of the communities affected. Tears were shed at the devastation and bewilderment at the scale of the crisis. Explanations? How can anyone possible attempt such?
At the crux of the crisis, on Black Saturday as it’s now known – the day I arrived back from the New Zealand mountains and drove into the holocaust, I wanted to flee this country for that verdant land where I had just come from – the land of my birth and no bushfire history or forecast.
Suddenly New Zealand seems the place to be facing the onslaught of Global Warming.
My resolve firmed during that stressful night during my listening to the urgent fire alerts on the radio, checking the CFA (Country Fire Authority volunteer force) website and paranoiacally looking outside for any signs of fire on the horizon.
We sang the Australian National Anthem during the service in St Paul’s – the first time ever for me during my forty years’ residency and my raw emotions overflowed into the thought, “ This is my community. How can I leave it?”
It’s the fate of an ex-pat to have that dilemma never fully resolved. You belong here – and there, but never fully in either. At some stage you make a choice, but not necessarily for ever. Or you divide your time – if you are lucky enough to be able.
It's at times like this that you think of home and Australians round the world are rallying right now. Among the consolatory calls I've had from around the world was a homesick Australian friend in Beijing.
The dust may have settled, but the fires are not out and the bushfire season far from over. The debate is raging over the prevention strategy and will be paramount in our planning for long to come, but the lives of those affected and surviving the maelstrom of the Victorian bushfires of February 2009, has been changed for ever.
Our emotions are on a raw edge, and we are still in shock - and I'm talking about those not directly affected, but the community spirit is high and everywhere you go there are bushfire appeals. More offers of help – clothes, food, accommodation and pairs of hands, have been offered that can be utilized
Victoria might no longer be the place to be in the long term despite its considerable cultural clout, but the spirit of the people is a powerful force.
The vineyards of the Yarra Valley have suffered enormous loss, but tourists are the restorative needed. Come visit you wine lovers and culture soaks. There are great galleries amongst the vines in this corner of the globe. And always a plethora of delights in Melbourne.
ADVANCE AUSTRALIA FAIR.

New Zealand Mountains, Pinot and Bushfires

After three days of intense wine talk and tasting in the burgeoning pinot district of Central Otago (English Wine Guru Jancis Robinson said last time she attended – in 2005, that it could be the most exciting area for Pinot Noir outside Burgundy. She came back this year - and said a lot more this time), it was a salve for the palate to take a walk up the mountains – actually one of the Great Walks of New Zealand – the Routeburn Track.
After driving to the bottom from Kinloch at the head of the lake – Wakatipu, on which the international alpine resort town of Queenstown is also located and where the Pinot Celebration was held, it was embracing to lose myself nature and the process of trudging up the track. I had forgotten the marvellous camaraderie of mountain people – that everyone you encounter is your immediate best friend. It was a glorious day – not too hot, not too cold, the rivers sparkled turquoise below the dark line of the bush. And despite the volume of fellow walkers, there was plenty of time alone with the birds, just walking in the bush.
Even more refreshing was the friendly Ranger at the Routeburn Falls Hut who offered me a cup of tea and the query,” What’s Pinot?”
I was wearing the relaxation as the plane touched down in Melbourne and I stepped out to a temperature of 46 degrees – the hottest ever on record.
My son collected me with the words that I needed to keep tuned into Emergency Radio. I had walked into a crisis, with bushfires erupting by the second and it was almost too sudden to keep track.
I drove back to my home in the Victorian countryside on instant alert, not knowing whether the fire had crossed the Calder Highway towards my hamlet as it had the day I left (and came within the outskirts of the nearest small town). My mind was in a whirl of survival plans and worry about my lack of water. There is a problem with my bore that I hadn’t succeeded in having fixed before I left.
Well my property was and is OK and I’m OK. It was a sleepless night that night for me and many others. Unlike others, I’ve been lucky so far, but with a 12-year drought and predicted further high temperatures, it’s not over yet.