They are old family friends. We have been largely out of contact, such that my incompetent parents do not have a current phone number. I googled and found a couple of listings - they were heavily involved in the local community- but that turned out to be their old number. The missing persons number doesn't have any registration for them.
I fished with Terry Hubbard when he came to the NT, and in turn I stayed on his farm, the 3 Sisters, and played saxaphone to the cattle. He is a big gregarious man with pink cheeks and a room-filling personality.
The bushfires razed Flowerdale to the ground. We saw it last night, I stopped washing dishes and stared mute as they ran across the charcoal stumps and pieces of tin sticking out of piles of ash in that post-apocalyptic desolation. They are still looking, they said, expecting to find more things that they don't really want to find.
Only then the worst possibilities hit me. If you know anything let me know please.
Elsewhere, a beautiful and poignant piece by Barista, and others from Guy, Pavlov's Cat, Helen, Legal Eagle, Hoyden and LP. A constant stream of updates as the fires take over Twitter.
The weather said 20 and showers. Fall where you're needed, you contrary bastards.
UPDATE: Flowerdale is angry and feels abandoned. Scouring articles for names, nothing yet.
UPDATE II: Thanks Leonard.
UPDATE III: Just got word they are alright, my mother rang the hardware store where he used to work. Apparently the fire stopped short of their property, a result that was beyond my hopes for them. Can relax and get some work done now!
Joy turns to hysteria and pain and inches me closer to that breakdown. - Now going back in the WayBack Machine which I use a lot on this blog, I visit my want list. A Toilet. A toilet that is tall so I don't have to put an extens...
5 days ago