On New Year’s Day, I woke to find several bushfire alerts on my phone.
The fire had been burning out of control since just after midnight and an evacuation centre had been opened for residents.
My Kalamunda home was not directly in its path, but the blaze was raging only a few kilometres away.
Scarily, a big part of the Kalamunda township was highlighted as under threat.
Fortunately — for us at least — the wind was pushing the flames away from the town, and from my home.
Thanks to firefighters’ efforts, no homes were lost, though the flames came terrifyingly close to some and 2000 residences lost power.
A 19-year-old was later accused of setting off a firecracker in bush land which sparked the fire emergency.
I live in the hills, surrounded by eucalyptus trees, so we are used to keeping a watchful eye on bushfires.
At the same time, it’s possible that familiarity with close scares has bred complacency. It always turns out to be OK — therefore it always will.
As it happened, just days before the January 1 blaze erupted, I had done something I’d been meaning to do for months — years, even.
I gathered some plastic tubs and filled them with the most important of our family albums, labelling them “take in case of fire”.
While nowhere near enough, it comprised one small part of my household’s fire plan, which is, in a nutshell, get out as fast as we can.
Other good intentions, such as copying important documents or packing a go-bag for a quick evacuation, are still waiting to be ticked off that “I’ll get around to it one day” list.
I thought I had long resigned myself to the idea of losing the family home as long as everyone living there was safe. Knowing things can be replaced, but people can’t.
That’s despite reading — and writing — news stories about other families who thought it would never happen to them.
Of all things, it was a burnt tea towel that really brought the message home that some things really are irreplaceable.
The tea towel caught alight while being used to shift a pot on a gas-flamed cooktop and had to be thrown away.
I know what you’re thinking: it’s just a tea towel, so what?
Of course, it happened to be one of my favourite tea towels, not one of the 20 or so other ordinary ones in the drawer.
It was blue linen, came from France, and was my go-to when a little extra presentation was required for fresh bread rolls or scones.
So I was sad to see it binned. Then I caught myself — if I was this disappointed about a scorched tea towel, how would I feel to lose everything else?
All the detritus accumulated from decades of family living — the precious baby photos, musical instruments, grandparents’ war medals, carefully-chosen furniture and even the view from my window.
It would be truly devastating.
That devastation we’ve seen so many times before; in the Wanneroo fires three years ago, in the blaze that wiped out the historic town of Yarloop 10 years ago, in the wildfires that obliterated swathes of California early last year.
And the devastation we’re seeing now, as dozens of monstrous bushfires sweep through Victoria.
Vision that’s become all too familiar, of blackened chimneys rising from twisted metal and ash, burnt animals and tear-stained faces of residents forced to flee.
WA has sent a contingent of fire fighters and an incident management team in response to Victoria’s SOS request for more personnel — knowing it won’t be too long before we will need the favour returned.
As our population grows, heatwaves grow longer and the landscape drier, one thing we can expect is bigger and more frequent fires.
And it’s not just people like me living on the city’s fringe who are at risk of bushfire destroying their homes. Many living in regular suburbia are also increasingly under threat.
Next weekend, I promise myself, I will continue those fire plan preparations.
Because the tragedies unfolding in Victoria, the closer-to-home scare and the tea towel tell me it can happen — to anyone.
https://thewest.com.au/opinion/bethany-hiatt-the-familiarity-of-bushfire-season-has-bred-complacency-amid-victorian-devastation-c-21285967
