Left the farm late evening yesterday.
When the sky turns orange and the air starts to smell like burnt toast, that’s a sign to leave.
I wasn’t in a Watch and Act zone on the VicEmergency app, but there were two active spots close by that kept getting closer. The problem with waiting too long is that Watch and Act can escalate quickly. I’ve seen situations where it shifts from Watch and Act to “It’s Now Too Late to Leave” in a span of minutes.
There’s also the surrounding context – even if your own area isn’t under warning, neighbouring areas might be. Road closures, redirections and traffic funnelled into unsafe routes. Leaving later actually makes it harder to get out.
So while there was still light, I left. I really, really didn’t want to. The car was ready. I keep a bug-out bag in the car at all times. I stayed another hour to make sure everything on the farm was as prepared as it could be. Plus another five minutes wrestling the dog into the car – he insisted on staying.
On the way out, it was impossible not to notice how prepared everyone else was too. Neighbours had horse floats ready, horses all rugged up and waiting. Messages circulating offering paddocks if anyone needed to move livestock to safer ground. Just generous and collective coordination happening with no fuss.
I opened and closed paddock gates to move the cows and sheep to safer ground. Topped up barrels of water, just in case. I won’t be away long, but you never know. Hosed the chickens, filled the ducks’ pools and did one last walk-through. Then we left.
The drive back to Melbourne was smoky for most of the two hours, but we made it back safely. (Ugh. Cars. People.)
Fire conditions are now under control and everything looks fine. Still, it felt more sensible to leave than to stay on sheer optimism and risk getting caught out. Thanks everyone for checking in yesterday and offered help.
This happens every year. You never really know which area will be hit, it often feels like bad luck of the draw, really. I don’t know how people do this year after year. And I completely understand why some people choose to stay and defend when it’s their only home.
At this point all I can hope for is rain, though that seems unlikely. My neighbours will now have to truck water in for their cows.
Land stewardship for me has never been about the idyllic version alone. It’s a lot of ongoing decision-making under changing conditions – land, animals, weather and risk as they shift. It’s weighing trade-offs and acting early, oftentimes rather reluctantly.
Even with the risks, I still believe the positives far outweigh them.