We smell the fire and we look at the smoke over the mountain. We start to see videos from the area and the golf courses (Arabella Country Estate and Kleinmond Golf Club) on social media. Yes, the place is on fire. If you are familiar with Fynbos (fine bush) flowers and the surrounding areas, it needs to burn every decade or so. These fires are never that serious and it is needed to spread the seeds. However, with the various alien plants, like Pine trees and bluegum trees, the intensity of these fires becomes worse. Theoretically, the fires is supposed to burn "over" the plants, there is not much "material" to burn, and the fires are quick and don't cause too much damage. But with invasive species like Pine trees growing close to and sometimes between the fynbos, the fires get all the more powerful and intense as these trees normally produce more material to burn and they produce chemicals like turpentine.
In any case, the recent fires were pretty destructive for four days. The golf course that sits at the foot of the mountain got the most damage. This is my favorite course and one I have frequently written about and posted the amazing fynbos flowers and proteas. (If you want to see these posts, please feel free to visit:
The reason for highlighting these posts at the start is to showcase the sad and emotional toll these fires have on the people who live here. That is, we as inhabitants of this area feel a deep connection to the fauna and flora. At least, I feel like this. It always hurts me when the fires go through these areas. And therefore my title of this series of photographs: "The Quiet Violence After the Fire". (I base my post's title on the title of a book I recently read: The Quiet Violence of Dreams: A Novel by K. Sello Duiker, one of the best novels I have read from a South African novelist.)
In the following post, I will share with you the unfortunate destruction of fire, but also the quick and almost instantaneous healing of mother nature on her own kind. I also share the strangeness of these fires: where one whole area is spared. Two sides of the path, one side is spared, the other is burnt down to the sand. I also write a small philosophy musing about the title, that is, "The Quiet Violence After the Fire." I end the post with some hope: There is still green and there is still life.
A Single Stem of Hope
Darkened and silent. The violence of this silence is deafening. Where there were once birds calling each other, there is nothing now. Only silence. A silence that is violent. Normally, silence is something we are after. This silence equates to the absence of noise, noise being that of cars and other people. This silence is due to the violence of the fire that destroyed all life, insect, bird, reptile, mammals. This silence is due to the death of life.
But there is hope. Even if it is a single stem of green protruding from the blackened earth.
Even if this single stem of green looks like a flame.
Because this green stem-flame symbolizes that there is growth on its way.
Beautiful Destruction
Where there was a spectrum of different colors, now only the black soot clings to everything and the smoke-smell lingers in the air. Can there be a type of beauty in this destruction?
Scorched and Fertile
Everything doesn't get burnt down to the ground. As the fire passes over the flowers, it scorches them and in so doing kills them. But this spreads the seeds. With destruction, life comes forth. What a beautiful contradiction. But isn't this the violence again in the silence? New growth is only starting out, the silence of all the dead remnants... There is an eery silence that just doesn't sit right with me. Even though I know the scorched will produce fertile ground for new growth.
Fingers to the Heavens; Why Hast Thou Forsaken Me
Yet another way to look at the quiet violence after the fire is to focus on the solitude or loneliness thereof. Think of oneself in the position of these animals. Alone they need to escape the clutches of the fire. Alone the plants stand their ground as the fire violently leaves a silence behind that none will feel unless you stand there on the scorched earth.
Hope
Green fingers protrude the scorched earth. There is hope, they shout. History also tells us that nature will take over again. Wisdom tells us that this has been going on for thousands if not millions of years. Why do we worry now? Or, why do I worry now? Because I find beauty in the fleeting aspect of nature. For only a while the flowers open, to stow away the seeds that need the destruction of the flame to spread. It is never easy to see what you love go up in flames, even if you know that it is required.
Blackened
The texture looks almost human-like. A finger? A thin arm? Did it hurt when the fire engulfed you? I ask the tree or limb. I am met with a violent silence. Did it hurt to be alone? Silence never gives answers that we are satisfied with.
The first image below you will see the blackened mountain in the background, but in the foreground, you can see the green of what the fire did not touch. When the fire doesn't burn that intensely, it burns without discrimination. This means it can leave certain patched untouched. It is always so strange to see and witness them.
Untouched; A Contradiction
High and might, protruding the sky, the protea looks over the damaged and scorched earth next to it. For now, it can boast its beauty, being alive and all. But will it disperse its seeds like the dead plants next to it? In being alive, it has a disadvantage to the plants that have died but successfully dispersed their seeds. What a lovely contradiction.
This is a rather sad and depressing event. Seeing all this beauty lost, but as mentioned in this silent and quiet violence life will emerge from the ruins again. All of the photographs were taken with my Nikon D300 and Tamron 300mm Zoom lens. The musings are also mine, unless stated otherwise. Can we find beauty in the destruction? I think the new growth speaks for itself. Stay safe and happy photographing.
