The Courage to Visit Marysville

It took me until Easter to visit Marysville. I didn't want to intrude but I have memories there and I needed to revisit some special places. We went up that way on our way to Taggerty and it seemed fitting that rain was pouring down. I could feel the tears welling up inside me to match the water falling from above.

The main focus of my visit was the alpaca shop. For about three weeks before the fires I said it was time I visited it again, but I didn't get there. Jenny has provided me with beautifully soft jumpers every year since I developed nerve pain. She met me in the street in Alexandra shortly after the fires and her eyes lit up when she saw my apricot colored baby alpaca which has been a friend for the last year. I patched some holes in it recently as I've worn it so solidly it's really ready to go out, but it gave joy to Jenny that something from her shop was living on.

It's hard to orient oneself in Marysville now, but Kerrin is good on directions and took me straight there. Nothing left but a burnt out shop fitting made of wrought iron, and the roof lying bent and burnt all piled up on the side. I took some photos and am glad I did although I was worried about doing that at the time.



This week as we drove through Narbethong, truck after truck after truck turned out of the Marysville road. Some of them were doubles and all of them were taking debris back to Melbourne. It was hard enough seeing Marysville burnt, but Marysville gone???

Along the road up to Taggerty, the houses and businesses that we are used to driving past all blackened and ruined, are beginning to disappear. Level ground cleared of all debris is what's left and I think that is maybe a harder sight even than the burnt remains. It's all being cleared so quickly, I feel like getting out of the car and hanging onto some of it and can't imagine what it must be like to have lived in one of those houses.

One more place at Marysville called me. I went in search of Bruno, and found him standing in the car park. We chatted for a while in the rain and he encouraged us to walk through his grounds. It seems miraculous that so many of his figurines were left standing. Terracotta doesn't burn easily. Some of them are broken and most of them are discolored. The trees are burnt, the undergrowth has gone. I look forward to the next edition of his book which will include the story of the fires.





It's important to the recovery of Marysville for people to return now. To return respectfully and with love in their hearts for the people, the animals and the forest. Some of those who lived there want the new Marysville to be clear of trees, others can't bear the thought of that. I understand both sides and hope a new Marysville can emerge which is safe enough from fire yet still has some of that magical green.



This last photo says so much to me. It was taken in the pouring rain, sheltering under an umbrella lent to us by a kindly passerby who sat in her car and waited while we absorbed the reality of what is left at Bruno's. The drop of water on my camera lens is a poignant reminder of what was missing on Bushfire Saturday, but the uplifted arms of this sprite are symbolic of the spirit of renewal still alive in the trees and the people.

Black Spur visual Story Part 2

Over Easter I took the time to drive over the Black Spur quietly, stopping to take photos, wandering quietly in amongst some of the trees but being very careful as there are still so many spots where a tree might fall.



The recovery of the bush continues, faster than the recovery of the animals or people. I was delighted to hear three bird calls, seeming strange in a blackened landscape but heartening. One was a kookaburra flying off across the Watts River. One of the interesting things we are finding is that some things are visible now that were hidden before by the lush growth of the forest. The Watts River is one of those, clearly visible now as it meanders along through the blackened land near Fernshaw.



It has taken me a while to get back to writing. Wandering through the black is both saddening and inspiring and I come and go in my capacity to sit with what has happened. Sometimes I feel so very small in all of this.



There are places on the Spur that hold special memories for us, but one is unidentifiable now. We used to call it 'purple corner'. An Australian mint bush on the high side of the road a few bends after Dom Dom. It was flowering in November the year we bought Taggerty and starting driving the Spur each day on our way to school in Croydon and work in Montmorency. Every year we watch for that burst of purple. I wonder which bend it is.

On the way back over the spur I stopped at another special place which holds many memories for me. St.Ronan's Well is untouched by fire so my memories came alive. The echo of children laughing as we filled our bottles, of Bon and Maria dunking their heads in the ice cold water, of quiet times on my own. I sat and let the cool of the water and green water weed restore my spirits.

Black Spur Visual Story Part 1

When we first saw the Black Spur after the fires much of the forest was blackened with dry brown leaves on the trees that were not totally blackened. Occasionally a tree fern would have one or two greenish fronds in amongst the brown and black.



Then we would come to areas that seemed almost untouched: a little gully of green ferns looking soft to eyes that still felt shocked from some of the sights we'd driven through; a patch of tall mountain ash still reaching up to the light with unburnt bark and a green canopy; a little place where I like to stop and sit facing a beautiful valley of eucalypts, Australian myrtle and tree ferns, all still clothed in soft green and rich healthy brown.





On recent trips we've been excited to see new growth every time.



There are still a lot of tree ferns that are standing forlornly with fronds denuded of all green, looking naked. If they're still alive the memory of the burn is too deeply engraved in their exterior for us to see yet. Other tree ferns have been actively and visibly growing for weeks now and many have a dozen new fronds well on the way to maturity. Their recovery seems nothing short of miraculous. Each time we pass through the Spur we watch excitedly for new growth and each trip it looks so different. I'm not sure if I can convey a sense of our amazement, awe, excitement. Today I was continually uplifted by the wonder and beauty of its recovery.