Storm

I knew there was a storm forecast for the Sunday, so we had planned our day's moving house activities around that. Gather the last bits and pieces from around the old house, tidy up the garden, then get going in time to down a congratulatory beer on our new verandah and enjoy the cooling rain. And it had been damn hot: up to 34C, to which you can add at least ten degrees if you take into consideration humidity, and hauling boxes and furniture up our steep driveway. I was on the verge of heat-induced hallucination by the time Sunday afternoon arrived. Late afternoon at the old house I looked over to the west and saw the black clouds gathering and announced that it was time to go. I started shutting the windows to make ready.

The Big Show
When the storm hit I positioned myself on the verandah to enjoy the show. There was thunder and lightning aplenty, so it was worth watching. I started to realise that the lightning strikes were getting quite close and that the wind was whipping branches around, so decided it was probably time to head indoors; about that time the power went out. Having just moved, everything was in boxes, so Lofty and I busied ourselves trying to find everything we'd need to feed, clothe and bed ourselves, the kids and our guests, Greg and Candy, before we lost the daylight. Not really expecting a blackout, it's not like we'd packed torches and candles in an easy-to-find spot. Soon we came across Greg and Candy in the hallway with our kids; apparently, they were sheltering the littlies away from the windows in case of them smashing. Dismissing it as harmless hysteria, I kept busy at my tasks.

The Next Morning
The next morning when we ventured out I offered our guests a silent apology: clearly I'd been the one with no clue at all. In the short drive from our new house to our old I saw four cars crushed under trees, countless houses unroofed, mature trees snapped in the middle, houses crumbling under yet more fallen trees. And it was as though the entire suburb had been sprayed with a garden shredder. Everything -- everything -- had a coating of horticultural salad pasted over it. As we picked our way across The Gap via what streets we could find open, the landscape was utterly transformed. Whole vistas had opened up, previously blocked by massive trees. The rainforest along our local creek that has offered us shady respite so often, hacked apart as if by an enraged toddler. Completely destroyed.

On the radio that morning we'd heard our previous neighbourhood mentioned several times as being particularly hard hit, so were wondering what we'd find when we arrived. The new owners were there, along with the real estate agent who managed the property for us. They all looked as though they'd just rolled out of bed -- the agent's house had every window along two sides smashed in and her car demolished -- and were slightly dazed as they assessed the damage. I'm pleased to say there was little, but just as ashamed to admit that what there was was entirely my fault. Those windows I started shutting? Only got one side of the house done: whoops! Of course, we were stoked that we'd spent so long raking and mulching the garden the day before, too. In our absence the storm had taken every inch of greenery on the property and distributed it evenly in one-inch squares over the house and yard.

The Damage
Over the next few days we came to grips with the extent of the damage. Having gotten off so lightly it took a little while for it to sink in. It being declared a Natural Disaster Zone was a bit of a clue, I suppose. One friend, Jessica, took a whole day to clear the trees off her driveway so that she could leave their rural property to seek help; the front of their house had also been smashed in. Other friends, John and Christa, had been out hosting their daughter's birthday party at the local pool. Unable to get home afterwards due to blocked roads, they waited at Christa's mother's house while John struck out on foot to assess the situation. He found the neighbour's roof wrapped around the front of their place. Fortunately this left no more than a scrape down the front wall, but it was an alarming time for the poor guy before he realised that. Other friends, Rob and Kylie, fared a little worse. Rob and their daughter had been at the pool party, leaving poor old Kylie at home alone as the storm thrashed trees down all over their house. We didn't find out any of this until a couple of days ago, because power was out, roads were blocked, and mobile towers were down for the most part. A couple of times we got a signal from the Clayfield tower, but only for a few seconds at a time. It was strange being so cut off.

The Help
Fortunately, we had batteries in the radio. The local ABC was excellent at getting information out in a timely and clear way. In fact, it was the only way we were getting information for a while. It was how we found out that the roof had collapsed on the local reservoir, contaminating the water supply. Great. All water had to be boiled. Add bottled water to the ever-growing list of unobtainables, such as candles, ice, and batteries. After a couple of days the council began delivering excellent community newsletters, outlining everything we needed to know, from emergency telephone numbers, advice on food handling without refrigeration, where assistance could be sought, where road closures were, how to deal with damaged asbestos sheeting, and so on. Local points were established for people to dump rotting food, obtain tarpaulins and rope, get a hot shower, charge appliances, get advice on financial assistance, find counselling. I was impressed by the organisation, although I concede that I speak largely out of turn. We didn't need any of these services, but I hope they served those who did well.

The Flood
Two days after the first storm we had a night of hard, driving rain. Where there had been piles of chain-sawed tree by the side of the road, there were now sopping stacks of carpets and other household items. We had minor flooding in our garage where all our worldlies were stored in flimsy cardboard boxes, but once again we fared remarkably well.

The Atmosphere
Down at the local shopping area the atmosphere is palpable. The shops are much busier than usual; many people are shopping daily, skittish about further blackouts, others I suspect are simply desperate to be away from the problems of their houses and to be around other people. The locals look tired and wrung out. I was conscious of being extra courteous to anyone I came across when I was there, given that anyone of these people could have just lost everything. Everyone seems to be on the same page there. The Gap is generally an agreeable place to be, but recently it's positively radiant. People are smiling at each other, genuinely glad to see that even casual acquaintances are all right. The woman in the fruit and veg, for example, was really happy to see the kids and I, and I her. Their ground floor had been badly flooded three nights in a row, and she looked haggard.

The Chainsaws
A week later now and while the sound of chainsaws is less dominating, it's still there. There's one buzzing away over our back fence as I type this. Many people have much more to do yet.

The Good Fortune
In the grand scheme of things, we are all still doing OK. Perhaps I would not be saying this had my roof come off, but we are incredibly fortunate in this country. Emergency services are close at hand and volunteers were out there as soon as the storm cleared with chainsaws clearing debris. Financial assistance is available, and there are charities there to feed and clothe those who have lost it all. Last night our conversation here wandered to New Orleans and the astonishing cock-up that was, and the Lord of the Flies behaviour that people seemed to slip into. I suppose we can never know how we will react in that kind of extreme situation until we are in it, but I like to think that the energy and altruism that people showed during the problems here tell us that the Katrina situation wouldn't happen here.

The Goodwill
The power came back on after three or four days, and life is getting back to normal for we lucky ones. Obviously, it will take a little longer for others. The footpaths are slowly clearing, the piles of woodchips are growing, and our local park should be open again today now that so many tons of horizontal tree have been removed. So many people have done so much during this time, much of it voluntarily. Around here I've seen the SES, National Parks service, the Army, the Red Cross, Centrelink, BCC, and numerous locals playing out their King Gee Man fantasies with chainsaws and things. Even Kevin Rudd paid us a visit. Local businesses have been extremely generous in giving out freebies. It makes me very happy to be living in my little corner of Bris Vegas.

A special thanks to everyone who tried to contact me during that time.

The Images

• A few images from the ABC. (I haven't unpacked my desktop yet, so am unable to prepare my few shots for the web.) Photo number 26 is a block down the road from us.

• Lavartus Prodeo has a post on the subject, with a couple of good photos. I'd recommend having a look at some of the photos this comment links to -- quite astonishing.