The eucalyptus burnt down in the hot summer of 2022. One minute the huge tree was there against the skyline and then ‘whoosh’ it was alight in a sparkling red inferno.The conclusion—it was because of the hottest summer we’d had in the outback for some years.
We could have told anyone that. Even when we dragged our beds out of the house to sleep under the stars at night, the temperature remained humid. Sleep was difficult. Everyone did a lot of stargazing. With no lights, the Milky Way was awesome.
That tree stood on flat land at the end of the houses and at the beginning of the bush. It stood alone and was a gathering place where the women sat and discussed community affairs, children chased each other around it and lovers carved their names in the trunk.
I didn’t know its age, but it had been there since before I was born and before the cattle station, too large to be classified as a farm, had given the land to the community.
I was seventeen when my Mum became crook with cancer. She didn’t complain and often we’d sit under the eucalyptus while she could get about. “When I’m gone, remember love, I’m still watching over you and never more so than around this tree.”
A few weeks later, she died. From that day on, my life spiralled downhill without her stabilising influence. I lost my way and sought oblivion with drugs and alcohol.
I stayed in the town camp with other members of our community. Gran rang a few times a week. “When are you coming back?”
“Soon.” I’d return when my money ran out.
As always, Gran welcomed me home. It was a dry community so drugs and alcohol were banned. I respected that. Each time I appeared, we’d celebrate eating a couple of kangaroo tails, roasted over an open fire.
That particular day, I was meandering towards the tree when it ignited. I wasn’t close enough to be injured. Gran told me I was lucky. If I’d been any closer, I’d be dead.
Somehow, I felt I’d cheated death and I should make good my second chance at life. Six weeks later, I went to Rehab. It was a struggle, but I was determined. After a few months, I came home, completely cured. They aren’t the right words—once a drug addict and alcoholic always one. However, I vowed to stay clean and sober.
It was as though I hadn’t been away when I got back to the community. Gran and other elders were sitting cross-legged on her verandah dot painting on canvas. The paintings sold well in the local town’s cultural centre and boosted their incomes. “Come and join us,” she said.
“I will sometime. But now, I want to visit the old tree.”
“There’s nothing there, love.”
I still went. I saw where the tree had been, though it had been a few months since the fire. Fallen, half-charred branches lay scattered on a wide area of dusty red soil interspersed with tufts of grass. Suddenly, in the middle of everything, I saw long dull green leaves—a sapling was growing.
Thrilled, I ran to tell Gran and her friends. After them, I rushed over to the school to tell everyone. Mrs Brand, the teacher and only white person in the community, gave the children permission to take a look. Of course, we had to have another celebration that evening. Goanna this time.
Over the months, I grew stronger. So did the tree. As it struggled to grow in the harsh climate, it inspired me. I’d make something of my life.
Was Mum sending me a message?
I liked to think so.
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