Today ABC Canberra reported that all the fires in New South Wales and the Australian Capital Territory (where I live) are now contained, which is wonderful news. It spurred me to reflect on what I’ve learned during what Australians are calling the “horror fire season.”
 
I’ve learned to regard time differently. I used to think of natural disasters as finite events. I believed they had a definite beginning and end. Even the worst of them would come and then they would be over. Recovery and rebuilding could then begin. The bushfires in Australia have shaken that certainty.
 
In New South Wales, the bushfire season started early, way back in September, and people have been living under that threat ever since. Here in the ACT, fires to the east, south, and west have threatened us since the holidays. Smoke was the biggest problem at first, as Canberra experienced the worst air quality of any city in the world. Then the fires crept closer, and planning for evacuation became a reality for many families. The fires have been "out of control" or "being controlled" or "under control." Never are they entirely out. And they won’t be—unless an enormous amount of rain falls. Enough rain to counteract the effects of a five-plus-year drought here. Authorities predict that Australia will be fighting these fires through February, probably well into March. Seven months—from the start of the fires in September through March isn’t an event—it’s a lifestyle. It’s a new normal.
 
I’ve learned that I am nothing if not pragmatic. Formulating a bushfire survival plan forces you to be. Choosing the what to bring for a to-go bag or bin is like packing for the most bizarre camping trip you could imagine. What I’ve chosen to include has changed over time. Now the contents are down to the essentials—if I can replace it, it doesn’t come.
 
I’ve learned that I will stay a whole lot longer in the face of fires than I ever thought I would. Friends from outside Australia urged us to evacuate at the first sign of danger, and it was easy at first for me to say: well, if the fires come anywhere close, we’ll just leave. But go where? There were no truly safe places, only places where the fire wasn’t at that moment. And evacuate for how long? We still had work and school and other commitments. You can leave them behind for a while but not for weeks or months at a time. Life goes on. You become numb and so do the friends and neighbors around you. I’ve learned that in future fire seasons, I will likely stay until emergency services tells our neighborhood to leave.
 
Perhaps the most important thing I’ve learned is that Australians take care of each other, from organizing relief efforts to supporting the volunteer firefighters to rescuing the native wildlife. And I’ve learned that they never, ever give up. They keep going and look for signs of hope. If this is the new normal, these are the folks I want to face it with.

In my last post, I wrote about the effect of the fires on Australia’s wildlife. Since then, the scope of the disaster has continued to grow. An ecologist from the University of Sydney now estimates more than 800 million animals have been affected in New South Wales alone, and more than 1 billion animals across Australia since September.

After reading my last post, a college friend from the United States asked about the wildlife carers. Beyond monetary donations, he wondered if any practical supplies could be sent to them. Another friend asked what the firefighters needed. One thing I can do in this situation is research, so I reached out to my Australian friends that are involved in different charities, and here’s what I discovered.
 
Wildlife carers are in desperate need of vet supplies like bandages, wraps, medicines, and ointments. They also need hanging pouches to be sewn for all the orphaned marsupials. The fabric used to make the pouches should be 100 percent cotton or cotton flannel. Here are patterns for:

​Little care packages are being put together for the firefighters through the #SLABSFORHEROES effort. Needed items include:

For both the wildlife carers and firefighters, supplies can be mailed to:

Parcel Locker 1004339105
99 Mawson Place
Mawson ACT 2607
Australia
ATTN: Angel Ben
 
In another effort, The Rescue Collective, which distributes supplies to ​wildlife carers, needs the following:

For some of the more obscure items on the list, you can try online Australian vet suppliers like vetnpetdirect.com.au or vetproductsdirect.com.au. Or you could order online through a U.S. pet supplies company like www.petcarerx.com.

For The Rescue Collective, please mail supplies to:

Nicole Blums 
C/O The Rescue Collective
4/55 Tenby Street
Mount Gravatt 4122
Australia
 
Monetary donations are always welcome. For disaster recovery, try the Australian Red Cross. To help the firefighters, donate to either the New South Wales Rural Fire Service  or the Victorian bushfire relief effort. Donations to care for native animals can go to The Rescue Collective and NSW Wildlife Information, Rescue, and Education Service, Inc. (WIRES).
 
I am humbled by and thankful for the care and support shown to Australia from people all over the world. 

The images on the news and social media have been relentless: kangaroos fleeing the bush fires, badly burned koalas, cockatoos falling from the skies, and countless orphaned joeys.

In a bush fire season that started unimaginably early, the devastation has been tremendous. BBC News provides a good summary of how these fires have unfolded so far. The losses are staggering.

Scientists from the University of Sydney estimated that 480 million animals have been killed in New South Wales alone since September. These animals were killed directly by the fire or later due to loss of food and habitat. Thirty percent of koala habitat is gone. And the fires are likely to keep burning for months more.

Many people know about koalas and kangaroos, but countless other species are suffering, including lesser-known animals like the dunnart, long-nosed potoroo, and the antechinus.

Even before these fires, Australia’s track record for preserving animal species was grim. Australian Geographic’s comprehensive study found that 100 species of animals and plants have become extinct in Australia since European settlers arrived in 1788, the worst record on any continent over the same time period.

Wrapping my mind around all this loss can be depressing, immobilizing. But I am inspired by the Australians around me. They aren’t giving up on their wildlife. What they do best as individuals is band together for the sake of the greater good and the community. And, like the volunteer firefighters here, they never ever stop.

Many, many efforts to help animals have been launched across the country. Below are just a few in my local area that I’ve been aware of or involved in.

Most inspiring and rewarding to me has been Water Our Wildlife Canberra, a local effort encouraging people to just start putting out water for the wildlife around us—whether it’s a small backyard basin of water for the birds and bees or a wading pool for kangaroos in the neighborhood nature reserve—every little bit makes a difference. Interest and participation are both growing by leaps and bounds daily. There is even talk of turning it into a national program.

A group called Sydney Dingo Rescue was caring for 40 dingoes when it was forced to evacuate to a temporary location north of Canberra two weeks ago. They were running low on supplies, so local charities (including the ACT Pet Crisis Fund, which I work with) have pitched in to provide newspapers for bedding, materials for temporary enclosures, squeaky dog toys, dog food, and chews.
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The Animal Rescue Craft Guild has put the call out for sewers, knitters, and crocheters to make wraps, nests, joey pouches. and blankets for injured bats, birds, orphaned marsupials, and other wildlife. 

The Rescue Collective collects supplies for animal carers, and people have donated everything from formula for marsupial babies to animal first aid materials to jerrycans of water and plastic basins.

​If you’re wondering how you can help Australia, here are some opportunities to make a difference. 

Recently on a morning bush walk with Milo, I noticed a magpie at the edge of our neighborhood. Nothing unusual about that, until I realized he was following us. On foot. When we walked, he scurried along behind us. When we stopped to look, he stopped too, affecting a casual demeanor. As soon as my back was turned, he followed us again.

I was concerned at first he would swoop us, so I kept an eye on him. He continued to follow us. 

Then I thought that maybe he was injured and couldn’t fly, but he was quick to swoop another magpie who entered his territory. And then he was back to following us.

Even Milo after a while was puzzled by this bird’s persistence.

He followed us for around 800 feet, which is nearly three football fields in length.

Why? Was he escorting us politely from his territory? Looking for food from me? Was he just curious?

Magpie behavior is often a mystery to me. Magpies are among the most intelligent birds, and they often engage with humans. They recognize faces over time, and there are accounts of them gardening, attempting to type at a keyboard, and introducing their offspring to their favorite humans. They have twice been observed in behavior that looks like a trial by jury. 

​This was not the first time I have been puzzled by a magpie. Around six months ago, when I was hiking at Red Hill, a magpie marched right up to me, a few inches from my toes.  

Clearly, he needed something. Turns out what he needed was an audience. He treated me to a long, glorious song. 

Australian magpies are endlessly fascinating, mysterious birds, and I am glad to have them as my neighbors.

Every year in the spring, Australians celebrate National Bird Week by taking part in a huge citizen science project. For one week in October, Australians count the birds they see in their backyards, parks, and open spaces across the country.
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I participated this year in the sixth annual Aussie Backyard Bird Count, submitting checklists via a phone app of the birds I saw in 20-minute increments from stationary locations.  

I was not alone: More than 88,000 people participated, with the numbers of schools that took part growing to more than 1,000 this year.
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The results are in, and a total of 3,381 768 birds were counted. The graphic below summarizes the results and lists the birds most commonly seen in Australia 

The rainbow lorikeet took the top spot for the second year in a row, which I found troubling for several reasons, but that bird is nothing if not tenacious and adaptable.

The data is important because it’s a snapshot of yearly trends affecting the environment. Birds give an early indication when something’s wrong—think of canaries in a coal mine.

This year, a new bird reached the top ten most commonly seen species: the white ibis. The white ibis is a dry country bird, and thousands more were spotted in wetter urban areas near the coast. The data indicates that the continued drought continues to affect birds like the ibis, and they are adapting by moving to areas they aren’t normally found.
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I’m glad I did my small part in this massive citizen science project that contributes more to what we know about Australia’s birds.

On morning walks, I often wonder what the world looks like to our dog Milo. Many experts on canines, including Alexandra Horowitz, recommend taking a walk in your dog’s footsteps and imagining what he sees, smells, and experiences. I call these stop-and-sniff walks, and I’ve started doing them whenever I have enough time in the morning to let Milo set the pace.

I have some ground rules: no more than one hour spent outside, and I follow Milo’s lead—within reason. That means no unsafe terrain where snakes might lurk (rock piles, tall grass) and no trespassing on someone’s private property. Here’s what I’ve learned from our stop-and-sniff walks.

We amble, we circle, we meander. We are almost never on a path, or at least, not a path that I recognize. I believe these twisty, turning trails follow the rabbits and kangaroos.

We never wander all that far. Most of the time, we’re no more than two-tenths of a mile from home. Who knew that Milo, like Thoreau, believes in the value of discovering all the possibilities of a single patch of ground rather than exploring the entire world?

That patch contains multitudes. When I looked at the ground rather than up at the sky, I saw all kinds of fascinating things. ​

Rather than approaching kangaroos gradually from a distance, we happen on them unexpectedly, in the cool shadows of trees. 

​On these walks, I learned to look down and appreciate what I saw. I learned to use my ears and my nose, not just my eyes. I learned to cultivate patience. After all, there’s always time to chew a stick.

I knew how valuable these stop-and-sniff walks would be for Milo, but what I didn’t know was how good they would be for me too.

When visiting Glasgow recently, as I wrote last week, I found an unexpected connection to Australia. During the same visit, as I walked away from the Glasgow Cathedral, I found another. 

This giant mural was painted by Australian artist Sam Bates, also known as Smug. Born in the small town of Nowra, New South Wales (about three hours south of Sydney), he has lived and worked in Glasgow for 16 years.
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The mural is beloved to Glaswegians and depicts a modern-day representation of Mungo, Glasgow’s patron saint. The birds in the mural symbolize the story of the Bird that Never Flew, one of St. Mungo’s miracles. The nearby Glasgow Cathedral is the final resting place of St. Mungo.

As a follow up to St. Mungo, Smug painted another mural at the corner of High Street and George Street. Here, St. Mungo is breastfed by his mother St. Enoch. Again, a bird appears in the mural.   

Smug has painted several other murals in Glasgow, and his work is known for both its photorealism and gentle humor.
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I happened upon this mural by Smug, which was commissioned for the Glasgow 2014 Commonwealth Games. Tucked beneath the Kingston Bridge, the swimmers look as if they’re competing in the chilly River Clyde. 

The mural below remembers that people are not the only residents of Glasgow. These animals can be found in Glasgow’s parks and green spaces.

​Near Central Station is this mural of a girl with a magnifying glass. Towering above pedestrians, it looks as if she’s ready to pick up something or someone. 

This video excerpt from a Rick Steves’ episode about Glasgow includes one theory about this mural along with a look at street art by Smug and other artists.  

Finding signs of Australia in Glasgow reminded me that the world is interconnected and sometimes it feels like a smaller, cozier place.

​When I travel overseas, I look for connections to Australia. Often I find them in unexpected places. On a recent visit to Glasgow, I saw this exhibit in the Riverside Museum.

In the 18th and 19th centuries, transportation for life was a common punishment for Glaswegians who broke the law. Until 1867, they were transported to America, Africa, and in the later part of that period, to Australia.

In the 19th century, Australian authorities asked for 1500 female convicts to be sent from Glasgow to North South Wales to increase the population of women there. The convicts could bring their young children with them. And with that, the story ended in Scotland.

When I returned to Australia, I discovered that Scottish women made up a very small percentage of the convicts transported; most came from England and Wales, and especially Ireland. The women arrived on transports ships like the Mellish, pictured above. Many would end up in the Parramatta Female Factory, which was modeled on the workhouses of England.

Travel not only broadens my mind but also increases the number of connections I can make between pockets of forgotten history around the world.

The Tasmanian tiger, also known as the thylacine, was a large carnivorous marsupial that carried its young in a pouch. Fossils and cave paintings show that it once lived all over Australia. Thylacines didn’t survive on the mainland, dying out about 3,000 years ago. Scientists speculate that pressure from dingos, a type of wild dog, may have been a factor, along with a dryer climate and less vegetation. By the time Europeans arrived in Australia, thylacines were found only on the island of Tasmania, where they lived in the eucalypt forests and coastal lands. Early settlers called them Tasmanian tigers because of their dark stripes. Thylacines hunted at night and ate possums, other marsupials, rodents, and small birds.

In 1863, naturalist John Gould predicted that more people and more development would be the end of the Tasmanian tiger. He was right.

Settlers targeted the animal, believing that thylacines killed sheep. The Tasmanian Government paid a bounty on every thylacine killed between 1830 and 1909. More than 2,000 were slaughtered, and the species never recovered. 

What thylacines remained were kept in captivity, and the last one died in 1936 at a zoo in Hobart. In the wild, the animal was officially designated extinct in 1986 after years of fruitless searches.

​This display at the National Museum of Australia, and others like it, are most likely all that's left of the Tasmanian tiger. 

That dismal thought doesn't stop people from trying to find them though. In Tasmania, there are still eight to ten sightings reported every year, but no convincing proof. And if Tasmanian tigers can't be found, maybe they can be brought back to life. Progress has been made in attempts to clone the thylacine.
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As I walked away from the thylacine exhibit, I hoped it wasn’t a portent for the future. Australia leads the world in extinction rates, with 29 species lost since colonial times. I wonder what the chances are that one or more of the animals I see every day will end up in a display like this.

Recently I saw the exhibition Storytime: Australian Children’s Literature, which runs until February 2020 at the National Library of Australia. It traces the development of children’s literature from colonial days to the present and includes everything from picture books for small children to novels aimed at young adults. For many native Australians, this would be a nostalgic journey, reminding them of many old favorites from childhood. For me it was an odyssey through a whole new landscape—a chance to learn more about Australia’s culture by exploring what stories authors have chosen to tell children.    
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No surprise, I gravitated to the stories featuring iconic animals like kangaroos, possums, koalas, and wombats. Women have written many of these books, and the work of three authors resonated with me.

The earliest work, written by Ethel C. Pedley and published in 1899, is called Dot and the Kangaroo. A kangaroo comes to help Dot, a young girl who’s lost in the bush. After eating berries that the kangaroo offers her, Dot can understand the animals around her.  The other bush animals help the kangaroo and Dot to find her way home. The book was made into an award-winning film in 1977 and eight more movies were made about Dot. Both the book and the movies include the idea that humans have had a terrible effect on the lives of native animals.

Mem Fox focused on possums, and in 1983, finally published Possum Magic. She started writing an early draft in 1978, and like Jackie French later, the book was rejected many times. The possum protagonist is Hush, whose grandma made her invisible to keep her safe. The problem is, Grandma has forgotten how to reverse the spell, but she knows it has something to do with food. The pair leave the bush to journey across Australia, trying traditional Australian foods along the way to find out which ones will make Hush visible again. This story, a popular favorite for Scholastic Books, has never been out of print since it was published and was turned into a musical. 

Five years later, in 1988, Mem Fox wrote Koala Lou, when Australian singer Olivia Newton-John asked her to write a book about a koala named Blue. That idea led to Koala Lou, a determined little koala who enters the Bush Olympics to get her mother’s affection and approval.

​Jackie French has written more than 140 books. Her breakthrough picture book, Diary of a Wombat, published in 2002, features a lively, demanding wombat named Mothball. The book is in the form of Mothball’s diary entries for a week as she tries to coexist with her new human neighbors. She soon learns how to train them to give her carrots, her favorite treat. With charming illustrations and Mothball’s deadpan delivery, this picture book is laugh-out-loud funny.  
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After seeing this exhibition, I not only feel like I learned a lot about Australian culture through its children’s literature, but I also made some new literary friends along the way.