Laura's daughter Miriam and grand-daughter Audrey are evacuated from Mallacoota to Sale by helicopter on January 5
By Laura Brearley
I AM A grandmother of a family of climate refugees from Mallacoota: my daughter, Miriam, my son-in-law, Rory, and their three children, Leo (9), Milo (6) and Audrey (4).
Like many other families who have been directly and indirectly affected by the bushfires this summer, I am in the early stages of making meaning of what has happened. I am thinking about the meaning of home and community and about what it means to stay or leave and the implications for identity and belonging. I am reflecting on our relationship with the Earth, the damage done and the healing needed. In the face of catastrophic firestorms such as these, life becomes elemental. Beauty is intertwined with brokenness and a raw clarity distils what is important and what can be left behind.
I AM A grandmother of a family of climate refugees from Mallacoota: my daughter, Miriam, my son-in-law, Rory, and their three children, Leo (9), Milo (6) and Audrey (4).
Like many other families who have been directly and indirectly affected by the bushfires this summer, I am in the early stages of making meaning of what has happened. I am thinking about the meaning of home and community and about what it means to stay or leave and the implications for identity and belonging. I am reflecting on our relationship with the Earth, the damage done and the healing needed. In the face of catastrophic firestorms such as these, life becomes elemental. Beauty is intertwined with brokenness and a raw clarity distils what is important and what can be left behind.
