The mire after the Myer fire

As a Mole Creek Fire Brigade member for the past 6¾ years, I haven’t been to any large fires or wildfires. So on a fireground I’ve never been in a position where a split-second decision could have a major implication. But I’ve been to enough fires to realise that no matter how deep one’s knowledge and how broad and long one’s experience, a Volunteer firefighter or a Career (i.e. paid) one, acting in the best of faith with the benefit of the best human and material resources, can make decisions that in the heat of the moment (pun intended) seemed correct but in hindsight weren’t. On 24 September 2007 the Myer department store in Hobart’s CBD burnt down, despite fire crews’ efforts [1, 2, 3]. Last Tuesday Myer’s insurer and the building’s owner announced they’ve lodged a Supreme Court damages writ against the State Fire Commission and its then chief John Gledhill, arguing the fire’s damage could’ve been reduced had firefighters acted differently [4]. (I don’t know details of the firefighting; I’m concerned here with the principle.) Mr Gledhill said ‘The Fire Service Act is very specific, it provides indemnity for people making operational decisions such as those that were made on the day of the Myer Fire or in any fire for that matter’ [5]. I hope the Supreme Court will interpret the Act thus. But whether it does or not, soon the State Government will introduce legislation to remove all doubt over the Act’s immunity provision (i.e. s.121) [6].

Shoefiti and me

I don’t know how long they’ve been there. But I first saw them some months ago. High above the streetfront of Mole Creek’s Fire Station. Suspended on power lines. A pair of sports shoes. Tied together by their laces. I don’t know why someone tossed them up there. I don’t know who it was. And neither do my Fire Brigade mates. The shoes have stayed there. Even during the 16 September gale [1]. Every time I go to, or past, the Fire Station I look up to see if they’re still there. And they are. The power company, Aurora Energy, hasn’t bothered to remove them. For me those shoes have remained an enigma. But as Violet Fane wrote: ‘Ah, all things come to those who wait’ [2]. In last Tuesday’s Age, an piece by writer Toni Jordan [3] validated my perplexity about sports shoes hanging from power lines, provided some causal theories, and even disclosed its name: shoefiti. A google search on ‘shoefiti’ revealed thousands of citations [4]– including a Wikipedia page [5], a shoefiti website [6], and a revelation – that should’ve been obvious to me, but wasn’t – that shoefiti’s a compound word derived from ‘shoe’ and ‘graffiti’ [7]. So shoefiti, like much in our fast moving and every morphing world, is something that’s been around for a while yet passed me by. Until recently. The question occurs to me that hypothetically had I known of shoefiti sooner, whether my life would’ve been any the better for it. Ho hum.

Reflections on Anzac Day 2010

Yesterday was Anzac Day. Last year I wrote of it in point form [1]. Today I’m doing it again:

I didn’t keep my resolution to read Les Carlyon’s 2001 book Gallipoli [2] and 2006 book The Great War [3] before Anzac Day 2010.

But I’ve changed my mind about the 1985 film ANZACS [4]. I now plan to see it before Anzac Day 2011.

Yesterday I marched in Deloraine’s Anzac Day march, as part of the 24-person contingent from the five volunteer fire brigades in the Deloraine area.

It’s the first time I’ve done so. I don’t know what made me do it this year.

In bright sunshine the march down the main street ended at the newly restored cenotaph near the Meander River where there was a ceremony and service watched by the public outside the cenotaph precinct.

At each corner of the cenotaph, an army cadet stood stock still with head bowed for the entire time.

The several speakers were mostly boring. Some content of the speeches overlapped (why weren’t the speeches pre-coordinated?), and an elderly female clergywoman said some prayers.

As a secular Jew, it offended me that all the prayers mentioned Jesus, there was a reading from John’s gospel, and two Christian hymns were sung. To my knowledge Australia has no official religion. And if Christians are in the majority, that doesn’t justify them ramming their beliefs down the minority’s throats.

The best speaker was the Captain of HMAS Collins [5] – the lead submarine in our fleet of Collins Class submarines [6]. He spoke about a Deloraine boy John Collins (1899-1989) who became Vice Admiral Sir John Collins KBE, CB (pictured). He was Chief of Naval Staff 1948-55, and of course the Collins Class submarines were named after him.

I don’t know the words of Advance Australia Fair. I don’t intend to learn them.

I was most moved when the Last Post [7] was followed by a minute’s silence after which the Australian flag was slowly raised to full mast. The laying of several wreaths came second.

I was appalled that God Save the Queen was sung.

Overall I’m pleased I attended. I don’t know if I’ll go in 2011. I’ll decide after I’ve read the books and watched the movie.

farmdoc's blog post number 569

Mole Creek has a public swimming pool. Built about 25 years ago, it’s an outdoor pool in the village’s centre, it has a fine view out over the mountains, and it’s run by the community (i.e. the Mole Creek Swimming Centre Association Inc.). Each winter it’s closed to swimmers and covered by a pool blanket. Then each late spring it’s emptied for cleaning and refilling ahead of the summer swimming season. And who better to pump it out than the Mole Creek Fire Brigade – because we’re local and we’re pumpers extraordinaire. Last Saturday was warm and sunny – perfect for emptying a swimming pool. Once our 3-man crew set up and started our two portable pumps (pictured), we had lots of time to relax and enjoy the sunshine. I’m sorry I didn’t take reading matter. Watching a pool empty is like watching grass grow. Or paint dry. It took 4½ hours all up. Because the pool’s not chlorinated over winter, hundreds of tadpoles were in the pool – training for the next frog Olympics. We pumped them out with the water, and hopefully their training’s continuing in a nearby creek. I wonder if they’ll grow up to be Pobblebonks. We pumped the water from the pool’s deep end. And as soon as the shallow end’s floor was dry, the pool crew moved in with a pressure washer to clean the floor and walls. All this happened the day before Celebrate Tasmania Day 2009 – whose theme was volunteering. Yes, being a volunteer sure feels good.

farmdoc's blog post number 468

Today’s the first day of the last month of the 2009 winter. In Mole Creek it’s still dark, cold and wet. Yet here I am writing about a fire brigade/bushfire topic. Again. For the third time in the past four days. The winter must be getting to my brain. Is it seasonal affective disorder? Though the next fire season’s months away, the Mole Creek brigade still trains twice each month – for our skills rust if we don’t polish them; and we have new members to absorb into our team. Whilst we train, we chat. And each winter much of the chat’s about how bad the next fire season’ll be. The prediction’s always bad. If the weather’s dry, then it’ll be bad because the fuel load will be dry. Tinder dry. (The adjective ‘tinder’ always precedes ‘dry’. Here is the definition of ‘tinder.) Or if the weather’s wet – like this winter is – then it’ll be bad because more plant growth means a heavier fuel load. So it’ll be bad whatever the weather. It’s a no-win scenario. So I’ve stopped talking, and worrying, about it. Whatever will be, will be. Even so, I was interested to read this in last Wednesday’s Age. Blimey. Last season’s devastating Victorian bushfires were the worst in recorded history; yet they’re predicting the coming season’s conditions will be even worse. It’s hard to understand. I wonder if it’s not a beat-up – the bushfire equivalent of swine flu – to goad people into adequately preparing. I’ll bet you anything the coming season’s fires will be trivial compared with last season’s. Time will tell.

farmdoc's blog post number 466

The Tasmanian Flag is a modified British Blue Ensign. The Union Jack occupies the upper left 25%, and a passant and fimbriated red lion faces the flagpole on a white disc centred in the right half of the flag. Since 1869 it’s been the Tasmanian Governor’s flag; in 1876 the then Governor proclaimed it the State’s flag; but it wasn’t officially so recognised until 3 December 1975. We Mole Creek firies, being a perverse and parochial crew, decided we’d rather have a Tasmanian flag flying over our fire station, than an Australian flag. We didn’t have a Tasmanian flag. So I volunteered to get us one. The office of our Federal MP Dick Adams told me Federal MPs supply Australian flags, and State MPs supply State flags. The staff of Heather Butler MLA was really helpful. They said we deserve a State flag, and it was Ms Butler’s privilege to get us one. On Monday 13 July Ms Butler and a member of her staff came and made the presentation. I was the only brigade member available; so she presented the flag to me. She was most personable. We chatted before and after she handed the flag over, we toured the fire station, and I showed her our two fire appliances. She was surprisingly knowledgeable about fire fighting matters. After I thanked her, we went our separate ways. We intend to fly the Tasmanian flag on our fire station flagpole 365 days per year. For this is one way to show that we’re proud Tasmanians. Thank you, Ms Butler.

farmdoc's blog post number 465

Each year, in the dark cold wet depth of winter, and thus bisecting the summer fire seasons, the five local volunteer fire brigades comprising the Western Tiers Group [WTG], meet in the Deloraine Football Club’s clubrooms for an annual dinner. This year’s was last Saturday night – which was dark, cold and wet. About a hundred people were there (counting partners and spouses, but alas not Sweetheart Vivienne). The room was nicely decorated, including a floral centrepiece on each table. I sat with my Mole Creek brigade mates. Thanks to some new members, we had our biggest contingent for years. The food was institutional, but for reasons I don’t know it was better than in prior years. The bar, manned by footy club members, did brisk trade. Every attendee received a voucher for a free drink. I redeemed mine for a Coke Zero. There was raucous hilarity, mainly directed at the MC – our much-loved WTG leader (who’s a month older than me). There were games. There was a trivia competition. And there were long-service presentations. I’ve been to a few of these dinners, and for me the main attraction’s the ritual identicalness from year to year, and thus the predictability of it all. I had a good time. I won the trivia, of course. (A $50 voucher at Becks Hardware.) And I was presented with a 5-year Long Service badge – which I’m mighty proud of.

farmdoc's blog post number 382

In the 6-7 years I’ve been farming, one important lesson I’ve learnt is that the time spent planning a task is more than repaid – by the task taking less time, with less chance of things going wrong. In the not-so-good old days, Sharon – my sharefarmer, friend and neighbour – and I didn’t plan much. And we paid the penalty, with Sharon frequently frustrated, and me upset by her frustration. But over the years we’ve both become wiser, so nowadays we plan more, with the result that we’re much calmer because chores are quicker and only rarely go awry. But in farming, as in all human endeavour, the outcome’s not always optimal – sometimes for reasons within our control, and other times not. And so it was last Sunday when the Mole Creek and Chudleigh Fire Brigades went to do a hazard reduction burn of about six acres of head-high blackberry near Mersey Hill Road [1]. With two appliances and a dozen well trained and equipped fire-fighters, we planned our burnoff tactics carefully. But try as we did, using all the tricks we knew, we couldn’t get any fires going – the blackberry was too damp and green, and there was no breeze to fan the flames. We gave it our best shot, and we failed. But we didn’t get frustrated or upset. After a nice barbecue lunch, we packed up and left. We didn’t take it personally. Conditions were agin us. As they sometimes are. That’s all.

farmdoc's blog post number 351

The hours of daylight continue to dwindle. The autumnal equinox has come and gone (so sunrise to sunset is shorter than sunset to sunrise). Daylight saving has ended (and I’ve turned back all my clocks). The days are cooler (but mostly it’s still t-shirt weather). The nights are too (but not yet enough for me to reach for my flannel pyjamas and the flannel bed sheet). The solar panels are tilted up (to catch the ever more precious sun now it’s lower in the northern sky). The backup generator is fuelled and its oil topped up ready for when the battery charge falls below 70%. The fire permit season has finished (so fire brigade training has reverted from twice to once each month). The sycamore leaves are goldening (and their first leaves are falling, to the goats’ ravenous delight). Passover and Easter are nigh (I always think Easter marks the local tourist season’s end, after which the tourists stop coming, leaving the wintering here to the locals – a responsibility I’m glad to accept). In their song ‘Goodbye Earl’, the Dixie Chicks sing ‘…and summer faded into fall’. I'm only too aware of that. My summer has faded. And winter approaches. Inexorably.

farmdoc's blog post number 302

Here are some of my thoughts about the Victorian bushfires:

Last Friday Sweetheart Vivienne and I lowered the Mole Creek Fire Station’s Australian flag to half-mast. I shed a quiet tear. I think she did too.

I can’t imagine the conditions near and in the fires. The noise, the smoke, the heat. I’m told the heat turned windows to molten glass.

I can’t bear to think of the panic and terror of those trapped in the fires. I hope the last moments of the people the fire killed were mercifully quick and painless.

I can’t imagine the despair of the survivors who lost relatives, neighbours, friends, workmates, homes, workplaces, possessions, memories, dreams.

On Saturday 7 February, the worst day of the fires, the half an inch of rain that fell on Mole Creek made me feel guilty.

And I also felt guilty about declining – for work and age reasons – an offer to join the contingent of Tasmanian firefighters fighting the Victorian fires.

It’s marvellous to see how the plight of the fire survivors has evoked an outpouring of money and goods, and especially empathy and emotional support, from the population at large. And from politicians too, whose words and actions were and are, I think, genuine for once. The survivors deserve all of it – and more. Government aid must not be constrained by the current economic crisis.

I don’t know why this outpouring has occurred. But I think adversity brings out the best in us Australians. Our national spirit can be, and usually is, amazing when our backs are to the wall.

Whilst Premier Brumby’s reflex response was to say that this will never happen again, it surely will. And it’s nonsense to suggest that buildings can be designed to be bushfire proof. Resistant to ordinary bushfires, maybe, but not to those as ferocious as last week’s.

The process of the Royal Commission is likely to be more important than its outcome. Numerous reports from numerous inquiries after numerous previous major bushfires sit on shelves; yet this month’s fires are the worst on record.

Will anyone in power connect the dots linking bushfire frequency/severity and global warming/climate change? I doubt it. At least not publicly.

I’m so proud that darling Kate and Brendon have made their guest cottage available to a young Marysville family for a few months.

farmdoc's blog post number 199

‘To be or not to be, that is the question’ spake Hamlet in Shakespeare’s play, written about 1600. Some 400 years later, a modern Hamlet might ask ‘To burn or not to burn, that is the question’. After every major bushfire there’s an inquiry, and invariably a resultant recommendation is more hazard reduction burning. Such burning reduces the fuel load and therefore the intensity of future bushfires, However in this era of global warming and climate change, it produces CO₂ – a major greenhouse gas. No-one knows if all the hazard reduction burns produce more or less CO₂ than all the bushfires. Additionally there’s the smoke factor – people with asthma and other respiratory illnesses are at higher risk in the burn-off seasons, i.e. autumn and spring. Whatever I think about hazard reduction burning, I’m an operational member of the Mole Creek Fire Brigade, and so whenever we do a hazard reduction burn, I’m obliged to participate if available. Last Wednesday evening we did one in South Mole Creek, with two appliances and six members. Conditions were perfect – still, cool, not humid – and it proceeded uneventfully. It was a good chance to work under operational fireground conditions. I enjoyed it, as I did the barbecue and drinks supplied by the landowners to thank us. What would Hamlet have thought of a sausage and tomato sauce on bread?

farmdoc's blog post number 121

Our Maremma Pete is named after the now 89-year -old Pete Seeger who today I’m adding to the list of my heroes. One of Seeger’s best songs, Waist Deep in the Big Muddy, is a 1967 allegorical anti-war song. But I digress. Last week, as a Mole Creek fire brigade volunteer, I attended a Tasmania Fire Service training course on how to Drive vehicles under operational conditions (National Accreditation Code: PUAVEH001A). Tuesday night was the theory part. The instructor told us 10 students that the course focused on attitudes, not skills, because emergency service vehicles are expensive to repair. Fair enough, I thought. Then on Saturday the practical part started tamely enough: how to do a thorough vehicle inspection. Then the 10 of us set out in three appliances with an instructor in each, first for a gentle drive around Deloraine, then out on dirt roads whose quality gradually deteriorated culminating in a horror stretch: two kilometres of slush, potholes and rocks. We each had a turn driving. All went well. Everyone learned. Experience was gained. Would-be hoons were chastened. And no vehicle was damaged. I can’t say we were waist deep in the big muddy; but we were almost axle deep in it. What we were doing was not, by any stretch of the imagination, ecodriving. But in a perverse way it was fun.

farmdoc's blog post number 46

I once read that films are of two types – those you disappear into, and those you grow out of. Lars and the Real Girl, which sweetheart Vivienne and I watched last Sunday, is definitely in the latter category. In it, because of their affection for Lars, members of his small community play along with, and perhaps enter into, his delusion. Mole Creek, where I live, is a small community. Some families have been Mole Creekians for generations, and they exude a perceptible air of xenophobia. Maybe they resent the newcomers’ values and aspirations. I don’t know. But though a member of Mole Creek’s Fire Brigade and Progress Association, I don’t feel part of the community here. That’s okay because my priorities are elsewhere: living a decent, respectful and productive life; and being a loving, available and dependable relative and friend. I view friendship as a mutually participative process. In other words, unless my expressions of friendship are substantially reciprocated, then it’s not a friendship. Last Friday, when I was in Melbourne, some trees fell and blocked my Mole Creek driveway. Sharon – my sharefarmer and neighbour – phoned her friend Harvey who brought his chainsaw, and together they worked for a couple of hours to clear the driveway for me. That’s what friendship and community are about, eh Lars.

farmdoc's blog post number 4

Last Tuesday was cool, sunny and autumnal – my first full day home in Mole Creek after half a week in Victoria seeing my dearest ones. My day was going smoothly, I was well into my list of things to do, and I was preparing for a stroll through the bush. Then at 2 p.m. the fire call came. Some guys in Dairy Plains – about half-way from here to Deloraine – were cutting firewood, and the fire they lit to burn what they termed ‘the rubbish’, had escaped when the wind changed. So I was one of six volunteer firies who came in two appliances to help them. It took us a couple of hours to get the fire out, and I arrived home about 5 p.m. Was I unhappy or angry? Not a bit, for I had spent time with mates physically working outdoors with splendid views to distant hills, practising my pump, hose and radio skills, and assisting people in need. Yes, these woodcutters were at fault because they neither cleared the understorey well enough nor anticipated the wind change. Anyone can be guilty of insufficient preparation. But not everyone is fortunate enough to have the fitness, skills and time to be the helper that I was on Tuesday.