Burnt Offerings
After Adelaide, South Australia, was hit by severe wildfires last month, it was with some reluctance that I visited one of the scenes of the fire.
The new year catastrophe had cost South Australia dearly. The final tally was 27 houses destroyed, 125 outbuildings razed to the ground and over 130 reported injuries. Animals including koalas, kangaroos and family pets were killed or injured as they struggled to get clear of the flames. The monetary cost is expected to be around A$13 million. The saving grace of the event is that there were no human fatalities. But this does not take away the truth that many things were lost in the fire.
In the township of Kersbrook, which was arguably the worst hit area, 12 houses were lost. I felt myself becoming dizzy when I saw the havoc that had been wreaked by the fire. Tree skeletons were all that remained, despite the best efforts of the CFS (Country Fire Service), who worked tirelessly to stop the wildfires from spreading further as temperatures and winds soared, intensifying the disaster.
There were some 700 firefighters battling at the fireground to contain the inferno, which had spread out from Sampson Flat, and swept across over 12,500 hectares of the usually picturesque Adelaide Hills.
In the face of such indiscriminate devastation, there comes a point when there is nothing else you can do. Except be brave.
I visited the fire-fields a week after the final blazes had been extinguished. Scorched trees waved branches stripped barren of leaves to cloudless, rainless skies. Black and grey were the primary colours of this desolate-looking landscape. Verdant such a short time ago, this place had been stripped of colour. And the blackness everywhere marked the scars.
However, the lengthy and difficult clean-up process had started. Members of the community and outsider volunteers alike had cleared away the fallen trees and darkened matter that had swept across roads in a futile bid to get away from the inferno and the searing heat it brought with it.
It was overwhelming to see such an altered place. The stark remains made me feel weak. It seemed hopeless to think that this place could ever look like it had before the fire. But then I peered at the charred remnants more closely. Inspecting the bare trees at close range, it was clear to see that something was happening.
Many of the branches showed red splotches of colour that, at first, looked like bloody wounds to the very wood. But these were not wounds. They were fiery red blossoms that had been woken by the fire. The life cycle of these trees had not been cut short. Resurrection was taking place. This was a landscape in the process of change and it promised to be beautiful once again, despite – or perhaps because of – the fiery purge it had endured.
After just a short time since the disaster, there is already regrowth on many of the trees, shadows of their former selves in this thankfully temporary state. The burnt offerings are transforming into something strong and living, proving that in the face of ruin, life still finds a way.
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