Behind the Barricades - Stay at Home, Day#??

My Isolation Hair is a fright and I don't even care!

My daughter says I look like a mad scientist - I'll take that as a compliment!

I actually forgot it was the Easter Weekend this weekend. By the Thursday before Good Friday there's usually excitement and activity building over the big Easter market and the influx of Easter visitors from all over. The place is usually hopping. Not this year.

We saw our tourists depart, almost in convoy, about 2 weeks ago, after government orders to close caravan parks. While part of me was very glad to see them go, I also felt terribly sad for them as I watched the caravans roll past. They were heading back into an uncertain and fragile situation in their own home towns and cities, and it must've been frightening.

Mallacoota is a ghost town, coming into what would be our second-busiest time of a " normal" year. This entire year has been anything but normal! Most of the shops are closed. The library is closed. COVID-19 sanitiser stations have been mounted outside our supermarkets, where valiant staff continue to keep the shelves stocked. The Post Office arcade has 1.5m lines painted on the ground.  The volunteer-run community radio station, which is also the local emergency broadcaster, has seen some changes as a few of our older or more vulnerable presenters go into self-isolation.

My April calendar image seems strangely appropriate as we are all "confined to barracks" and isolated from our normal lives. Many people don't meet your eye when you pass them in the street, as if they think infection might be spread at a glance.

The District Health Service is overseeing deliveries of medication, groceries and newspapers to those in isolation. Dr Sara from the Medical Centre keeps the community up to date with a weekly radio interview.

I don't know whether the school will re-open next week (must find out). The Sanctuary - a youth centre set up during the fires, is operating in a virtual world, making the most of ZOOM for its activities.

Anxiety over the threat of pestilence and a sense of impending doom underlie the gentler rhythm that life currently thrums along to. Everything has slowed to a dreamy snail's pace. It's like mid-winter, only warmer.

Whopper fungus!

The quietude at home is punctuated by the rumble of supply trucks rolling past. The bushfire clean-up continues. As far as we know, we are COVID-19 free, but we are cautious.

Personally - I'm loving the serenity, and as an almost-hermit anyway, things haven't changed all that much for me. I haven't succumbed to any crazy urges to clean the house, although I'm attempting to get out and weed the garden a bit more. Unfortunately the mosquito population is as healthy as ever. Mini "nature walks" at home have yielded some interesting things, and the armchair birding has been fruitful.

A good deal of my usual "spare" time is being gobbled up by an imaginary dog called Elvis, whose adventures in Lockdown Land have been airing on the local radio once a week. A twenty minute program takes me a full day to write, although I hope I'll get quicker as the pandemic rolls along.

Elvis the Lockdown Dog

I've realised how often I touch my face without even thinking, I'm sure my hands have actually changed colour and I don't think the end of my nose has ever been so itchy.

We live in weird times. Come for a walk in the garden.

Common Bronzewing, looking anything but common.

Red-browed finch

King Parrots

 

Rainbow Lorikeet

Crimson Rosella

 

Brown Thornbills

Satin Bowerbirds

Australian Wood ducks

Welcome Swallows

Emu - yes, really!

Boredom? Not a chance! Well, not so far, anyway. 

WTF is happening to the human race? A rant

I haven't had a good rant for a while. Today's the day.

WTF is happening to the human race? Where did the love go? Why, all of a sudden, is an "I'm all right Jack" attitude pervading every aspect of life, from shopping to travelling to working and touching?

During the recent bushfire catastrophe there was such an outpouring of love from those who hadn't burned, to those who had. What happened to that?

Millions upon millions of dollars were donated by people around the world. People cared. Food, clothing, bedding, all sorts of goodies poured into fire-affected towns, burying us in mountains of love and "Licorice Bullets" (it's true - those chocolate treats turned up in Mallacoota by the pallet load) ... We saw the birth of the Empty Esky movement and the roads reopened and people who hadn't burned visited towns that had, to spend money there and help boost the devastated economies of fire-ravaged towns.

Ah - my furiously-turning cogs are seeing the common denominator. I think I get it now.

During the catastrophic fires there were 2 very distinct groups of humans: those who hadn't burned and those who had. A Helper group and a Helpee group. An "Us" and "Them" (this is something we humans do a lot). Or, pardon my cynicism, a group that could feel virtuous about their "altruism", and a group that should be grateful to be the beneficiaries of that "altruism". (Here's a hint, people - that's not real altruism.)

With the advent of COVID-19 that division has disappeared, my friends, and that is what has changed:

All of a sudden we've all been dropped into this toilet together and some people believe they have more right to the toilet paper than everybody else.

News footage of Aussies returning home last night - the final flights before the closing of our borders - showed people arriving from overseas destinations and being hugged and kissed by those meeting them at the airport. I'm hoping their next destination was wherever the traveller had to go for their 14 days of self-isolation - and I hope their happy huggy greeters went with them to isolate themselves as well, rather than dropping them off and heading out to the shops to pick up extra supplies.

These overwhelmingly younger people so easily and thoughtlessly abandoned current social-distancing principles - making an exception for people returning from overseas, FFS. Oh, that's right - there's this belief that young people will only get a mild dose of COVID-19, if they get it, so they're not afraid of catching it. Has it not occurred to them that they are very capable of SPREADING it to those who may not be as young or healthy as they are? Evidently not.

Don't get me started (oops, too late!) on those alleged busloads of city-folk who have been raiding the supermarkets of small country towns - because evidently, once they have stripped everything from their own city shelves, they have some sense that they are entitled to strip ours as well. Not only are they leaving remote places without supplies - they risk bringing whatever germs they may have to remote places.

Especially insidious are those who are trying to justify their selfishness by clothing it in Empty Esky virtuousness and self-congratulation. "I just spent $426 at your supermarket. Yeah, I'm helping you recover from the bushfires by buying up all your supplies - aren't I great?"

As for those who have hooked up their caravans and headed en masse to places like Lakes Entrance and Mallacoota - because we have had, as yet, no cases of COVID-19 in East Gippsland - their stupidity and selfishness know no bounds. A single case of COVID-19 in the holiday park here will spread like the fire we had at New Year. I shudder to think of the shared amenities blocks and the soup of pestilence that could be cultivated in them - or the way our already stretched health services will collapse under the increased burden of a COVID-19 outbreak here. Or the way that our high number of vulnerable, elderly or immune-suppressed local people will be affected.

Nationally, of course, teachers, once again, are losers - from comments made by our sloganising PM that suggest they are still viewed largely as babysitters, they are being expected to keep the streets safe from allegedly COVID-carrying children. Fuck what happens to teachers in the classrooms or playgrounds of the nation - as long as the rest of the country doesn't have to be responsible for keeping the young occupied and at bay for 6 or so hours a day. As an ex-teacher, I'm disgusted. Once again, the government fails to support teachers. (On the plus side, I have seen comments from parents who are sensibly schooling their kids from home, that "teachers should be paid a billion dollars! This is harder than I thought." Imagine doing that with thirty of the little darlings all day every day, love, not just your own tiny tribe...)

Last weekend I developed a foul headache, and by Monday afternoon I had a scratchy sore throat and a cough. I imagine it's something I caught from local children, who've had some kind of unidentified lurgy go through the kinder and school like a dose of Epsom Salts. As far as I'm concerned, just now, any bug is suspect - and a large number of our library patrons are elderly - so I put myself into isolation. Since then I've realised, after observinging the behaviour of so many human beings in the media & social media that we are clearly approaching this pandemic from very different places.

What a lot of people seem to be forgetting is that we are ALL in this together. Every single one of us has a responsibility to OUR COMMUNITY as well as ourselves. It's really what we should be thinking at any time we get a communicable illness, not just at a time where so many lives are at risk from something virulent that we have no immunity to and no cure or vaccine for.

In these COVID-19 times:
Don't think to yourself "I'm young, so it won't affect me. It doesn't matter. Business as usual."
Don't think to yourself "by running to a remote town I can outrun the virus and keep myself safe"
Don't think to yourself "the government will save us".

Don't behave only as if you don't want to catch COVID-19 - behave as if you don't want to spread it.

Repeat after me:

 It's not all about me. 

I am a part of the universe, not the centre of it. 

Oh - and keep your distance. Stay well, friends.

2020: the year of catastrophe

What a shit-storm 2020 is turning out to be!

We saw in the New Year in smoke and ashes, flames having licked away the landscape. Catastrophic fires, the likes of which Australia has never seen, gobbled and howled their way down the east coast of Australia, spitting out broken houses and towns as they went, turning livelihoods and economies to charcoal, incinerating wildlife in unimaginable numbers.

For week after week after choking week, major Australian cities were cloaked in thick smoke that stung the eyes, seared the lungs and set off smoke alarms inside office blocks. The pall circumnavigated the globe. It turned NZ glaciers a dirty brown and the blood-red ball that was the sun, rising and setting over a black and grey landscape, drove some people to the brink.

And then, hard on its heels, flooding rain that washed ash into the waterways, poisoning and choking life that had survived the fires, and storms that took off roofs, and hail the size of tennis balls that smashed windscreens.

And then – simmering away in the background while we dealt with all the shit that Nature could dish out – from a country far away came The Pandemic - COVID 19. At first it crept in, on planes and cruise ships, while governments prevaricated, pointed fingers, sat on their hands, told everyone to calm down, nothing to see here. Then they screened, isolated and quarantined, and finally legislated, and one by one the lights went out.

Lockdown in Italy. European borders closed. Extreme measures. Sadly, too late to halt the exponential spread of the sickness in places where the health of the economy was deemed to be more important than the health of citizens. One anonymous PM, whom I shall call the Evil Overlord, decided on Friday that mass gatherings of more than 500 people would be banned from Monday – when his happy clappy Hillsong conference (3000 attendees in Sydney, Australia) would be over. On Friday he had vowed to go “to the footy” on the weekend, to show there was no need to worry about the virus. The Friday afternoon diagnosis of COVID 19 in one of his close cabinet colleagues dashed his footy plans, but the Evil Overlord did not put himself into quarantine, the way he required the contacts of other COVID 19 victims to do. Another example, in glorious living hypocritical colour, of the two sets of rules he has - one for us and one for himself and his ilk…

Image source: Twitter

For several years now, scientists have been warning that the world is ripe for a pandemic. Just more science for governments to under-react to.  Sure, they’ve developed Pandemic Response plans – but they’ve waited rather a long time, during this pandemic, to enact anything that seems like a serious response.

Our particular evil overlord, who ignores Science (and common sense, many would agree), is one of the villains of the disaster movie that is 2020. There are others like him in some other powerful  nations – those who will always choose the interests of the rich over the rationality and common sense of science and the evidence of their own eyes. 

There’s a photo that’s been doing the rounds of the internet for quite some time – a young woman is holding up a placard that says “at the start of every disaster movie, there’s a scientist being ignored”.

That’s the disaster movie we’re living in the middle of right now – there’s no end in sight, and no sign of Bruce Willis. Fuck.

After the Fire 6 - The Silence of the Bush

Near Betka Beach. 3 weeks post-fire. Smoke haze has hidden the ocean in the background

 The bush was never meant to be silent

The trill, squawk or chatter of birdsong, the buzz and twang of insects, the reptilian rustle in piles of leaves, the sudden thud thud and crackle of wallabies or roos fleeing through undergrowth – the bush is usually a noisy place. To walk through the bush with only the crunch of your own shoes and the sound of your own breath in your ears is an unsettling experience. It’s devastating to creep along silent trails that were once so familiar and that rang with life. 

Even worse - the trees, those solid, dependable guardians of the paths and trails, may be absent or unrecognisable. Familiar landmark trees have become unfamiliar, if they're there at all. Sometimes it’s worse, somehow, to recognise them - old friends unclothed, blackened, crippled or felled. That big tree out near the Pony Club – a Grey fantail scolded me once from a branch that is no longer there, and there I watched a pair of Spotted pardalotes harvesting lerps. That empty space overhead, near the water storage facility, is where a pair of Mistletoe birds enchanted me in the spring, and the Eagle Tree behind my house - a tall skeleton that provided an excellent lookout spot for raptors - has been completely obliterated. Gone without a trace.

It's not without a an eerie, pared-back beauty but it's not how it's supposed to be.

The stark black lines of a charcoaled melaleuca forest thrusting upwards from silvery ash-covered ground 

The bush, however, is full of surprises. The regrowth of vegetation is almost magical.  Buds and shoots are bursting through blackened bark. Insects are returning. The birds that eat insects are returning. With the birds comes the birdsong. It's happening, slowly but surely - resurrection in action.

Tree ferns sprouting on Genoa Road

Grass trees re-emerging

Epicormic buds sprout differently on different types of trees – some appear in random clumps, others like the even fuzz along the length of a man’s arm, so that they look a bit like large furry pipecleaners - and still others appear to encircle a trunk in a delicate spiral pattern.

When Banksia cones burn, the seed casings open like golden mouths to spit out the seeds of their rebirth.

Swathes of burnt bush add layers of colour across the landscape in broad strokes of umber, gold, rust, sepia and deep black. Burnt vegetation has more subtleties of colour than you can imagine, and I’m pretty sure there are more than fifty shades of brown.

The beautiful Betka River

The spicy smell of regenerating bush – that warm eucalyptus scent with just a hint of smoke behind it - is actually exquisite, especially if there’s a waft of morning dampness to give it a bit of tang.  It's enough to put a smile on anybody's face. 

After the Fire 5 – Stickybeaks, Show-ponies and Others

As always, this is personal opinion, and my way of trying to respond to and make sense of recent and current events - I make no claim to be representing the opinions of others in my community at this difficult time.

CAUTION:

 SHOUTING (and a bit of BLUE language ) AHEAD

This is a hard one to write, just over seven weeks into the year and just over seven weeks post-fire (seriously, is that all it is? It feels like forever!) People are flowing into town now that the roads are open. Some of them are caring, kind-hearted people with a genuine desire to help broken town economies try to recover by spending a few dollars here and there in places like Mallacoota. I applaud their efforts. This piece is not about them.  It’s about those who are combining what I will charitably try to believe is a desire to help with an opportunity for self-promotion – and those who are just insensitive fuckwits.

Here’s a tip. People are still raw. Many remain dazed and numb. Many are trying to process the loss of everything they own as they negotiate the bureaucratic minefield that faces people after a catastrophic event: a mountain of bewildering forms, government departments, charitable organisations, insurance companies (or the lack thereof), rules and regulations. Friendships and relationships are put under stress - boundaries shift, tempers flare, tears flow at odd times – nothing is as it was as the entire community tries to find its way again.

It is not the time for out-of-towners to cruise around in their cars taking videos of devastated people picking through the remains of their lives and homes.

It is not the time for out-of-towners (no matter HOW far they drove to get here) to inflict unasked-for hugs on locals. Remember the righteous outrage all over the country when our insensitive clod of a Prime Minister forced those people in Cobargo to shake his hand as the cameras rolled? I'll leave that thought there with no further comment.

It is not the time for thousands of out-of-towners who joined a “community” Facebook page to be whingeing and moaning about their holiday bookings, or pontificating about the way the caravan park ought to be operating (do you know what's involved in running an extremely large caravan park after a major disaster, or how many abandoned but gear-filled campsites there might still be, or how many of the staff there lost their own homes, you insensitive fuckwits?) or accusing locals of being sooks because nobody has responded to an online question they posed about the fishing or the fucking entrance, or about how the town’s recovery ought to be progressing right now. Loudmouthed armchair experts, all of them the centre of their own universes.

It’s not the time for out-of-towners to get themselves on the local radio, drop names and personal details about locals – details that are nobody’s business – and comment expertly that “Mallacoota’s definitely recovering, but it’s a bit slow”. FFS, it’s been SEVEN WEEKS! Over 100 homes were burnt to the ground, you idiot. This is a community in crisis and you waltz in here from Melbourne knowing NOTHING and judging EVERYTHING. HOW DARE YOU!

I also believe it’s not the time for fledgeling reality TV “stars” – 15-minute celebrities - to turn up on our doorstep, ostensibly to “help Mallacoota rebuild” - and stage a highly-publicised media opportunity at Betka beach - the same beach where our not-quite-fledgeling hoodie chicks are trying to survive despite the odds. Our Lions Club is quietly doing a splendid job of rebuilding much-loved infrastructure - with or without media "stars" elbowing their way into the spotlight.

The remains of the stairs at Bastion Beach after the fire. Oops! The Lions Club has since built a set of temporary stairs - thank you Mallacoota Lions!

Those images of people huddling on the foreshore, terrified for their lives; of the HMAS Choules anchored offshore to send in supplies or take out evacuees; of Chinooks at our airport – made picturesque Mallacoota media hot property – but it’s still a community of traumatised people at different points on their own personal paths to recovery, whether they lost their homes or not.

I have a message for every single one of those stickybeaks, show-ponies and others: it’s not about you! IT’S. NOT. ABOUT. YOU!

Am I being over-sensitive? I don't know - but if I am, I doubt that it's "over" enough to dilute the great fucking sea of insensitivity that I feel like I'm drowning in right now. 

God, I can’t write another word. My keyboard may not survive the pounding.