Safe crossing
Issue 45, January 2026
Goodbye January (almost).
It was the best of times; it was the WTF of times.
My boy and I kicked off the year with plans of idyllic riverside camping for five nights. It was to be our third time camping at the site. I was looking forward to it, but also cognisant that on each previous trip, something dramatic had happened.
Before I delve into the specifics, which long time readers would be across, here is an extract from Issue 9, January 2023, of The Raptorial:
Leading up to a 3-night camping trip with my son last week, I’d been riddled with anxiety about the prospect of camping without another adult. The only other time we’d camped, it was with a friend and her children, and I had a lot of help, particularly in setting up the tent. As a novice, I hadn’t even thought to take a hammer!
With the booking made and the days inching closer to the inevitable, my worries intensified, but once on site, parenting responsibility and the desire to have shelter for the night overrode the paralysis of fear. I unloaded the car, go out the tent pegs and hammer (lesson learnt), lay the tarp and gave it a go. And I did it!
That first summer at the site, my alarm clock, which I’d taken because that is who I am, melted, giving me inspiration for a comic that lives online in a digital exhibition from the 2023 Emerging Writers’ Festival. That comic led to my accidental foray into more comic making, comic workshop facilitation, zine making and an entire new personality. Not to mention finding a community of the funny, silly, creative and engaged kind of people who prioritise the laborious frivolity of making zines, talking about zines, swapping zines, all things zines.
Back at the campsite again in the summer of 2023–24, temperatures weren’t as stifling but nonetheless hot. No appliances were destroyed in the endeavour, but, the tendons of my right hand ruptured as we were riding our bikes for the 234th time along the river trail connecting swimming hole, pub, bakery and campsite. It was a case of one flexion, extension or pronation too many for a hand that had been through a lot.
In the summer of 2024–25, we camped elsewhere, and the trip was incident free save for losing my favourite cap in a lake while on a cruise, and camping in close proximity to patriots and their flags that were out in force on the long weekend that coincides with the commencement of colonial violence, displacement and genocide of First Nations people on this continent. Never again will I camp on that long weekend.
So, while packing for this year’s camp, I wondered, what drama could ensue this time, while simultaneously trying to not wonder, because: reticular activating system, manifestation, call it what you may.
There was a forecast heatwave, but we'd done that and survived (see summer of 2022–23), although this time, it was compounded with a forecast of strong winds and a catastrophic fire danger rating for a large part of the state, including our home town and surrounds, which are about 60 kilometres southeast of the campsite.
Alarm clock? No, I wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
Tendons? Nah, all good after the slicing and splicing by my hand surgeon in 2024.
It hadn’t crossed my mind that we could be impacted by fires. Denial? Wishful Thinking? Stupidity? All of the above?
On Friday 9 January, fire tore through the town where my son lives with his dad. We were safe at our campsite, and oblivious to the specifics of unfolding events for much of that day, although there was the unmistakable smell and hue of fire and smoke in the atmosphere as we floated in the river, in what, in hindsight, was an eerie dreamscape of ignorance.
Once I started looking at the emergency app, there was no looking away. For days.
My co-parent evacuated to the town where we were camping and stayed at a motel close by. That evening, there were unverified reports of significant landmarks in the town being wiped out. I had a sleepless night, with the strong winds shaking our tent and that news, which I sat with alone, not wanting to share it with my boy nor his dad as it only pointed to the loss of their home being very likely. Another layer was the more general anxiety and grief about the climate catastrophe and this very close encounter with what was still unknown, not to mention the increasing frequency and magnitude of these climate extremes.
Saturday 10 January, we were woken with a ‘knock’ on our tent door by my co-parent. He was a mess. He too had heard reports of damage to large parts of his town. It was clear he was in no state to drive, but he wanted to return to see if their home was still standing. I convinced him not to return as it was still not safe, but I offered to drive to a town hall meeting scheduled for 10 am that day, about 110 kilometres away from our campsite, in a town where people had evacuated to.
I spent a harrowing 90 minutes driving, sleep deprived and holding many separate threads of anxiety together. We stopped early on to get food and drinks at the Marong General Store and Take Away and my son, who was a little perky with his dim sims and lurid sports drink, remarked, ‘It’s a very popular take away.’ Almost in unison, his dad and I said, ‘That’s because it’s the only take away’ It was a welcome moment of levity.
I should point out, aside from our son’s birthday parties, this was the first time in around six years that the three of us had spent so much time together, much less in a confined space during a catastrophic event.
Because the highway was closed, I had to weave through winding, at times unsealed, back roads. Haze from the fires was unrelenting, and in some areas, thick enough to make us wonder whether the route was a good idea. But, the focus on getting to the meeting on time and driving safely gave me momentary pause from all else.
Part way to our destination, an echidna waddled across our path on echidna time. Fortunately, I had enough wits about me (just) to swerve, not hit an oncoming car, and allow our spikey friend to get to the other side safely.
And we also got to our destination safely.
Except there was no meeting.
There never was going to be a meeting at that place and that time. Fake news was posted on social media, shared in group chats, dropped in conversations, and there we were.
It was surreal to see others at the steps of the town hall, gathered for the non event. There were tears, tired, familiar faces, and a palpable nervous energy that comes from expecting the worst and having no information to rationally counter that expectation.
And so we got back into the car, this time to drive to my town to pick up supplies for my co-parent. For much of the hour’s drive, it was still unclear whether my son and his dad’s home was still standing.
Oh, the relief when their landlord called with good news.
It turned out that many of the landmarks we had heard were burnt down were still standing. But, there were many other buildings and homes that burnt.
After that pit stop at home, it was back in the car, for another hour, and back to our campsite.
I spent time downplaying my ‘right’ to feel upset and distressed, considering I hadn’t faced the potential loss that my son and his dad had. And I didn’t experience the loss of those whose homes had burned down. Over the coming days, I had a reckoning with these feeling and many more as my co-parent and I continued to coexist: Saturday night as tent and camper trailer neighbours, Sunday and Monday under the same roof (my place).
By the Monday, I was starting to feel the effects of old relationship triggers, but there was a distinct moment where I recognised my descent into martyrdom and decided to nip that in the bud. I chose to own the generosity and care I had extended to my co-parent and embody that fully, but also put some clear boundaries in place.
This was not a moment of instant enlightenment. It was the result of so much work I have done in nervous system regulation and other modes of healing over the years, but especially last year.
Monday evening was a turning point. I stocked our fridge with ingredients my son and his dad could create easy and delicious meals from and got them both their favourite treats. And, with the godsend of a writing assignment pending, I stated that I had no capacity to cook that night and left them to it.
I sat in my office with much needed alone time till late that night, prepping for an interview with an author the next morning. Ruben and his dad had dinner and watched a couple of episodes of A Series of Unfortunate Events in the lounge room.
Somehow we all exhaled, a little.
I’m grateful for the friends who checked in on me, specifically seeing and naming what I was holding by being thrown in with my co-parent. It made me give myself permission to acknowledge my feelings and be kinder to myself. This whole experience was one of my proudest as a parent and a human. I am also grateful for the volunteer fire fighters who worked round the clock and lessened the loss.
That gratitude and relief coexists with a deep sadness I feel for those who lost homes, businesses and livelihoods. I also acknowledge the ongoing pain and loss experienced by the Dja Dja Wurrung people for this destruction to Country that is undeniably a result of colonisation and capitalist greed.
The Plague
A comparative analysis of the Plague of Camus’ imagining and the Covid-19 pandemic
A draft header and subheader I popped in here in early January, before our camping trip. I've neither finished the book nor gathered thoughts to deliver on ‘a comparative analysis of the Plague of Camus’ imagining and the covid-19 pandemic’.
Just leaving it here for comedic value and a little insight into the editorial process and the sometimes unrealised aspirations of the editorial team at The Raptorial.
Raptorial Writes
A monthly writing prompt
Consider a deadline that’s a focus for your main character in a short fictional piece that unfolds over a condensed timeline. Come up with your own temporal element for the story or choose one (or more) of the following:
a project deadline
navigating traffic on the way to a parent teacher meeting
moments in a waiting room before a dental appointment
a pending expiry date on a bottle of milk
Set a timer for 20 minutes and write.
Raptorial Bites
A monthly short story book club
Raptorial Bites remains under construction. I have designed a likely way forward but as this issue is already long and the day is short, I will leave it till the February 2026 edition for the big reveal. Or perhaps a mid-issue feature.
If you enjoy Raptorial Bites, please do let me know. Of course I’d also love to know if you are unmoved, do not enjoy it, or have thoughts on how it can be more interesting for you.
Well written, and extremely well managed Mek; congratulations! Life is always stranger than fiction!! Maybe future camping in early January will seem easy in comparison? Go well. XO.