… Leonard Woolf, a middle-aged man of letters, donned two pairs of socks and pruned apples in Sussex’s frozen January. The garden was his personal struggle with a conflicted but beloved cosmos. It would not last, and neither would he. But it was worth holding onto, for precisely the reason books were worth reading and writing: a cleaner, saner, more honest life. With his dirty hands and chilled bones, Leonard was confronting life’s basic ambivalence – one apple tree at a time.~ Damon Young (Philosophy In The Garden, MUP, 2012).

What really matters?

I’m sitting in the garden reading a chapter, Leonard Woolf: The Apples Of Monk’s House, in Young’s absorbing book on philosophy.

The sky is clear and the sun is shining, not a hint that large parts of New South Wales are burning and that many people are risking their own lives right now to save the lives and properties of others. A friend rings to say that evacuated houses are being looted. We take a poll on suitable punishment for these criminals.

But I’ve turned the TV and radio off. A self imposed news black-out.

Another friend sends a message asking if I’m OK. It’s what my friends and family do when there’s a bushfire in sniffing distance, even though my own experience is now a decade behind me. They know that just a hint of smoke in the sky or on the wind produces a voiceless unease. A need to know how far, how close. To have an exit strategy.

The familiar pictures and footage of people in shock, rubbling through the ruins of their houses looking for mementos. An unforgettable, quintessential Aussie experience. I don’t need live coverage to remember any details of the time it was my turn.

Rubbling, a verb – to search through the rubble of your house for tactile ephemera of a past life.

I know that the survivors are still in danger. And when they get through that phase over the coming weeks, there’ll be shock, fatigue and frustration that goes on for months. Followed by a recovery process that lasts for years.

So here are some hard-won lessons from my experience.

1. Nothing matters, other than surviving

Your life matters. Your family’s lives matter. Your neighbours’ lives matter. The lives of firies matter. Your stuff: it really doesn’t matter in the end. You know that now, but you might need to hang onto that thought in the frustrating times ahead.

It took me years of why and why me to figure out that sometimes bad stuff happens. There’s no-one to blame. And there’s no reason why. It just is.

You’ll get past the embarrassment of wearing someone else’s undies, as well as your own singed shorts and t-shirt, your entire wardrobe. Accepting hand-outs such as food and clothing vouchers: that’s a humbling experience and an opportunity to learn how to help others in the future.

You’ll deal with insurance companies: I heard they’ve learnt a few skills since the time we were asked to write down a list of everything we used to own.

2. Accept help from your family, friends and community

People want to help you. Accepting help was one of the toughest things to get my head around, as used as I was to supporting others.

Here are some of the most generous gifts I received:

• Hospitality. Come and live with me until you find a place of your own.
• A notebook, pens, tissues and several hundred dollars in small bills. Write everything down. In a few years’ time you’ll laugh in wonder that you couldn’t even remember your birthday or phone number when you were in shock. And you’ll need those tissues. And money to buy your own undies (Note to self: evacuate with wallet next time).
• An alarm clock, nail scissors and a backpack. Those were the days, when all my earthly possessions could fit in one bag.
• The lounge rooms and couches of family and friends. Their time. Coffee.
• A daily phonecall from a friend, for several weeks, to check if I was out of bed yet.
• Another friend telling me to sit on the ground or lean into a tree if things felt out of control.
• Advice not to rush into decisions: take your time to build a new life, the old one is gone.

3. It takes time to recover – meanwhile you need sleep and protein

I remember snorting in disbelief and frustration at expert advice that it would take three years to recover financially and six years to get your head around the emotional trauma. He was right though. Please remember you can’t run the entire six years on adrenaline: eat and sleep. And write.

One apple tree at a time

Bushfire recovery is a difficult way to learn about life and what really matters.

I felt frustrated at community meetings where local gardening experts talked about restoring order to singed gardens, when I was still homeless (more or less).

It was just a timing issue for me, as other people had different needs, especially those whose houses and gardens were damaged but not totally destroyed. Who also had to live in the war zone that used to be our suburb.

It’s only years later that I’ve gained insight into the importance of gardens in the way that Woolf, Young and others have written about. Gardens as a place to battle demons and to restore order and to find meaning in small things.

Gardening that makes sense when nothing else does.

And if your garden is a mess and you can’t find any words to make sense of this experience, find another garden and read.