After fires: What others learnt as they rebuilt their gardens
It’s 11 years since the Black Saturday fires in Victoria claimed 173 lives, thousands of homes and 450,000ha of land. Here, three couples share what they learnt as they rebuilt their lives and their gardens
Lorraine and Gary Nash had bunkered down in the cool of their bluestone cottage, thick curtains drawn against the day’s heat, and were watching television, when a neighbour rang. “Do you know there’s a bushfire coming?” she asked.
No-one had expected the Kilmore East fire to reach them – but, suddenly, there it was, virtually on the doorstep. The couple quickly donned their firefighting gear, including goggles and mask, and dashed into the 43°C heat. “The hoses were ready. We grabbed the pump and started spraying water everywhere,” recalls Gary. They each defended a side of the Humevale home that Gary had built 42 years earlier.
A wave of metre-high flames raced towards them through the paddock where, only minutes earlier, their two pet donkeys had been pacing nervously. With Moomba and Rosie safely tethered to the verandah – but coughing from the smoky air – Gary and Lorraine continued their watery assault.
The fire front hit, and tore through the garden. “Whoosh – there it was. We didn’t have time to go inside,” says Lorraine. They were lucky there were relatively few plants right beside the house. They were able to put out spot fires and save their home.
However, most of their beloved plants succumbed, with the garden taking on an eerie autumnal hue. For a couple devoted to their ‘country strolling garden’, the loss was hard, especially as they had been rejoicing in a successful opening for Australia’s Open Garden Scheme only months earlier. “On the Sunday night, we sat down with a glass of beer, and Lorraine said, ‘All we have to do now is maintain it,’ and four months later it was gone,” laments Gary. “We wondered how we would do it all again. If we were 30, no problem, but starting over at 63 is a bit much!”
“Then we thought, what else would we do with ourselves?” laughs Lorraine.
Cleaning up the 8ha part-bush property was their first priority. There was a 10cm layer of ash, and it was hard yakka, both physically and emotionally.
“Every morning, we chose one little job, and when we finished it, we packed up our tools. The next day we did another little job. Over time, all those little jobs created the new garden,” says Gary.
All of the standing ‘dead’ trees were left in situ to prevent soil erosion and provide much-needed habitat for returning wildlife. After a period of recuperation, many of the eucalypts sprouted epicormic growth, demonstrating how this irrepressible genus has survived our fire-ridden
Every morning, we chose one little job, and when we finished it, we packed up our tools. The next day we did another little job. Over time, all those little jobs created the new garden.
continent, and providing a metaphor for the resilience of human bushfire survivors.
A year later, the optimistic couple were ready to begin the garden in earnest. The ash proved a boon, sweetening their acid soil and, along with the many trailer loads of manure, adding to soil fertility.
They chose to stick with their original design. “We loved the feel of the garden, with lawn between wide, curved beds, and our wisteria-covered walkway,” says Lorraine. “But for others going through this now, it could be the perfect opportunity to create a brand-new garden.”
Since the fire, two flowering gums, a weeping cherry, a wisteria and belladonna lilies have regrown, earning Gary and Lorraine’s respect. Also, thousands of beautiful wildflowers have come up.
The new ornamental garden is a sight to behold, and a fruit and vegie enclosure provides more produce than Lorraine and Gary can eat, which suits them just fine. “We love to share. The wallabies can have the daphnes, but the tomatoes are for us!”
Opening an upstairs window to discover a boobook owl peering back at you, or tripping over a lyrebird when bringing in wood aren’t experiences many of us can claim! But such encounters were a part of life for the Morgan family. Sarah Hammond and Rhys Morgan and their three young children lived in a mudbrick and cedar house in an old eucalyptus forest running along the western ridge of the Yarra Valley, above Steels Creek. “We were nestled in among the trees, and leaves would rustle against our roof,” remembers Sarah.
As many of us can attest, establishing plants under gum trees isn’t the easiest pursuit. But, being keen gardeners, Sarah and Rhys persevered, developing a pretty, bush-style cottage garden where colourful Livingstone daisies and roses thrived alongside tough natives.
On the day of the fire, Sarah and Rhys were down in Yarra Glen attending to their horses, when the whole area suddenly went up. They raced back home to rescue their beloved old staffy-heeler cross and two cats, only just making it through.
The fire decimated their home and about 20 other houses along the ridge.
“When we moved here 25 years ago, a neighbour mentioned a four-wheel-drive fire track that cut through her property,” says Rhys. “We managed to escape down that track, picking up some tourists along the way, before sheltering in a winery in Steels Creek. We were very lucky.”
The family initially contemplated living elsewhere, but decided to stay. “This was just home, and it’s a very special place,”
says Sarah. “We felt very connected to this area. It had looked after us, and it was where we all needed to be.”
The house was rebuilt in 2011, and the garden on the 0.6ha block is still a work in progress. “It was good to live in the house for a while, to let the earth settle and to work out what we really wanted,” says Sarah. “The house is light and bright. It initially felt a bit sterile in comparison to the old place, but the gardens have softened it and brought it to life.”
Although the family misses being among the gum trees, the view across the valley is sensational, and they’re visited now by a variety of birds and wildlife. Many dead trees needed removing, but others remain, serving as habitat for wildlife.
The couple are happy that they can now grow a greater variety of plants in their garden. There’s no competition, there’s more light, and the acid soil has been enriched with 20cm of nutrient-rich ash. “It doesn’t matter what we put in the ground, everything grows like a triffid!” laughs Rhys. “This year we harvested
6kg of apricots from one tree!”
They choose new plants with care, and nothing flammable is planted close to the house. A front hedge of lillypillies serves as an ember and dust trap while helping to block winds howling along the ridge. “We had never fully appreciated the north wind before,” says Rhys. “In hindsight, we should have built a trellis or something to protect the garden from it.”
Sarah and Rhys remain optimistic about their experience with the fire. “The positive experiences the fire has brought us far outweigh the negatives,” explains Sarah. “The family is close, our children are resilient and, in a way, the growth of the garden has mirrored our own recovery.”
The positive experiences the fire has brought us far outweigh the negatives. The family is close, our children are resilient and, in a way, the growth of the garden has mirrored our own recovery.
Jane and Malcolm Calder bought their 20ha Steels Creek property in 1986, after their three children had graduated. They intended to live ‘the good life’ and, full of energy and enthusiasm, immediately started a garden.
A large, productive vegie patch was followed by many fruit trees, along with exotic and native plants to remind them of their travels. Burgeoning perennial beds were complemented by expanses of lawn. Majestic deciduous trees, including a Chinese elm and two sycamores, provided welcome summer shade.
The well-loved garden, which they had opened to the public, continued to expand, until Jane and Malcolm, reaching their
70s, tried scaling back… unsuccessfully. “Gardens do not want to be downsized!” laughs Jane, a former selector for Australia’s Open Garden Scheme.
In the days after the fire, which spared their charming timber home but razed much of their garden, Jane couldn’t bring herself to check on her beloved vegie patch. When she finally mustered the courage, she was delighted to see verdant silverbeet shoots emerging from charred crowns. “I thought, if you can recover, we can all recover. The silverbeet led the way!”
The indiscriminate nature of the Black Saturday fires has often been discussed by fire experts and those who were there.
At the Calders’ property, the north-facing garden was somewhat protected by their house, as fire approached unexpectedly from the south. Malcolm had watered the lawn numerous times during the day, so the ground was moist, and he remained at the property with his son, James, the two of them eliminating spot fires.
Even so, not much survived. Making the most of the inadvertent downsizing, the couple removed everything except the treasures that lived, reduced the number of beds, and chose new plants judiciously.
The garden’s acid soil responded positively to the fire ash and the masses of organic matter they applied, and when ash-contaminated water from their tank was emptied onto Jane’s vegie garden, it became more productive than ever before.
Nowadays, the eclectic, country-cottage garden displays little evidence of the fire to an outsider, but reminders are ever present for the two plant-loving botanists.
“We thought the crepe myrtle was dead,” reflects Malcolm. “I used to mow around the stump, thinking it would eventually disappear. Then, about three years later, it started growing again. The life force in plants is very strong.
“The fire actually did us a favour,” he adds, philosophically. “We now have a much more manageable number of fruit trees, which friends generously gave us.”
Their advice for gardeners facing a similar ordeal, who may be suffering, as they did, from ‘bushfire brain’ – unable to cope with anything – is to do nothing.
“Nature can achieve much without your help,” says Jane. “Wait and watch. In time, sow a few seeds and watch them grow. This reminds us that life goes on, which is important. And remember, you’re not alone – the world cares.”
Their advice for gardeners facing a similar ordeal, who may be suffering, as they did, from ‘bushfire brain’ – unable to cope with anything – is to do nothing. Wait and watch.