Sharon Rundle
Sunday, 1 February
The day dawns. Sulphur-crested cockatoos shriek as they rise from the trees. Startled kookaburras call out in raucous laughter and baby magpies squawk.
By mid-morning, heat and humidity drive the locals to the spring-fed creek that bubbles and babbles through the village. Cicadas are in full chorus. Kiewa Creek is awash with adults, school children, toddlers and babies. Depending on which part of the meandering creek they choose, the locals are diving, swimming, floating on blow-up plastic pool toys. A few family dogs join in. The air fills with the sound of squeals, laughter and excited barking, as the locals frolic in cool, pristine water.
The Riparian Regeneration Group, a volunteer committee dedicated to cleaning, weeding and regenerating the banks along the creek, is also ready for a quick dip by mid-afternoon. At the local general store – called the Trading Post because it is also a co-operative for local producers – the manager orders supplies of sunscreen, sun glasses, personal insect repellent and sunburn relief. He stocks locally made hats woven from reeds, hemp fibre and softened cane.
Kiewa Creek is the spot to be, and many stay well into star-studded summer evenings to swim, or relax on towels covering patchy kangaroo grass, before reluctantly heading for home. Even the odd hermit in the hills comes down to cool off in the creek at night. Koalas dog-paddle across to find choicer gum leaves or a new mate, and wombats and wallabies drink and dart about. After dark, the creek is an orchestra pit of frogs croaking, crickets rubbing, nightjars calling ‘whook, whook’ and the low haunting hoots of tawny frogmouths.
Kiewa means ‘clear water’ in the local Indigenous language and the creek is the lifeline of the village, landscape and wildlife.
Sunday, 8 February
Night owls living on higher slopes above the creek watch a vapour exude from the trees and plants.
It gathers into a cloud and slowly sinks until it hovers just above the creek.
Dawn breaks above the cloud in the gully. As if drawn by sunbeams, thick mist rises from the cloud floating over the creek and drifts higher and higher until the trails of white cloud dissolve.
Heat and humidity encourage the locals to immerse themselves in the flowing creek, cooled by crystal clear springs gurgling up from a water table deep below. Children are collecting cicada shells.
‘Look, there’s a yellow Monday here coming out of its shell,’ a small boy calls out. ‘I spotted a greengrocer, a floury baker and a black prince.’
Another child creeps up to her mother and surreptitiously sticks cicada shells to her T-shirt, then shrieks with laughter and gives the game away.
‘What do we do when we see a brown snake?’ one of the Riparian Regeneration Group volunteers asks the children.
‘Keep still and don’t bother the snake,’ they chorus.
The RRG is a loosely organised mix of mums and dads, retirees, even a few ‘weekenders’ who drive up from the city. They have no hierarchy, no affiliation, incorporation, registration or insurance, but nevertheless they clean up litter, remove weeds, whipper-snip the grasses and keep the place in good order. Some have qualifications and know-how to plant sympathetic flora and grasses to prevent erosion and give stability to the soil on the creek banks and steeper slopes of the gully. They study the best preservation methods for the shady tree canopy, made up of river gums, eucalypts, acacias, casuarinas and angophoras. They keep the landscape well-watered in times of drought.
On summer afternoons, when school ends, the widest shallowest stretch of creek becomes the next playground as the younger children run or cycle down to the water. Homemade boats created from paddle-pop sticks with paper sails skim along. Toddlers paddle and scoop water, sand and smooth stones washed up from the creek bed into plastic buckets and bowls. When the high school bus arrives from the nearest town, the older kids stream off wearing swimmers under their uniforms. They head for deeper water and whoop loudly as it hits their skin. They shout and splash about until parents heading homeward call to them.
The Riparian Regeneration Group keeps an informal eye on proceedings over the course of the day, sometimes acting as referees, as they rake leaves to add to the compost covering the roots of trees or remove gold-maned dandelions and rosettes of heart-shaped oxalis leaves, seeded and fertilised by birds. Everyone keeps alert for any sign of smoke.
Even the village book club becomes a floating fiction group as the mercury continues to soar. Swimwear is the most practical choice for a relaxed discussion. The mosquitoes are not out in the plague proportions of the early summer and warm nights keep locals at the creek for longer than usual. Some families picnic on the creek banks instead of cooking meals in steamy kitchens.
Under a full moon, the silvery creek takes on a life of its own.
Sunday, 15 February
When the first few toddlers become ill, the common symptoms are irritation of the eye, skin, and throat. Various tests come back negative but by the time the results arrive, preschoolers have succumbed to these same symptoms. Dr Andrew, the village GP, gives a primary diagnosis and prescriptions for local cortisone applications or antihistamines. Parents, needless to say, are worried about this mysterious illness. The Trading Post sells its entire stock of cough and cold syrup, antihistamines, eye drops, vapour rub, calamine lotion, Condy’s crystals and other home remedies.
A few days later, some of the older residents come down with similar symptoms. The heat and humidity show no sign of abating and only make the locals feel worse. Soaking in the cool creek water brings temporary relief, at least. Locals compare symptoms. Some of the Riparian Regeneration volunteers wonder if the problems could be caused by an allergic reaction to one of the plants, grasses or weeds growing on the banks of the creek. All the group’s work is done by hand. No-one uses pesticide or chemicals.
Dr Andrew is at a loss. The skin rashes and associated cough and watery eyes usually indicate measles or some other infectious process. This urticarial type of rash, raised and streaky like hives, which worsens if scratched, suggests allergies of some sort. But so far no-one has enlarged glands. Then again, it could be a form of dermatitis – but with increasing presentations, alarm bells are ringing. He reads through medical books, checks online and confers with colleagues but the eye problems, skin rashes and respiratory irritation continue to mystify him. Harry, the manager of the Trading Post, orders additional supplies. Parents are anxious. Nobody knows how the illness is spread.
In the late afternoon shafts of golden sunlight penetrate the canopy to illuminate the creek below and create rainbows from the spray. The discussion continues as the locals gather around their favourite waterhole. At sunset a sentinel cocky calls out to the stragglers in his flock as they fly back for the night. The Cicada song comes to an abrupt halt. The sky turns pink, orange and purple as the sun melts on the horizon.
After dark, a cool breeze shakes the canopy and moonlight filters through the branches, creating patterns in the silhouette.
Sunday, 22 February
The wait continues for Ministry of Health results and analyses, and some of the senior residents develop secondary illnesses. Every member of the Riparian Regeneration Group is affected. The Trading Post orders fresh batches of over-the-counter medications in bulk. Some family dogs scratch so furiously they rip out their hair. The local vet takes her own samples and prescribes cortisone ointment in the meantime. Rumours fly thick and fast.
A few children develop lesions which become infected from constant scratching. Harry orders boxes of manicure scissors and cotton gloves, though keeping these on the hands of small children in a heatwave is not easy. The local primary school closes temporarily. Parents’ schedules are thrown into chaos.
Much to the students’ disgust, classes continue as normal at the high school, since there has been no confirmation that the illness is anything out of the ordinary. Nobody wants to spread alarm by mentioning isolation. Teachers keep a supply of soothing lotions and throat lozenges for their classes and themselves and wash their hands religiously.
Dr Andrew advises his patients to send off samples of spring water, bore water and even rainwater from tanks to the Department of Agriculture. Selena, the primary school principal, does the same for the school water sources. For the first time in memory, Harry at the Trading Post adds bottled water and anti-bacterial hand cleaning gel and wipes to his next order.
On a restless, moonless night, the mostly peaceful village becomes a hotbed of gossip, accusations and conspiracy theories, as locals debate the source of this unwelcome out
Sunday, 1 March
The air is suffocating. Weather forecasts indicate a trough of high pressure hovering over the area. With the discomfort of their symptoms, the heat, and pitching in with child-minding, Riparian Regeneration Group volunteers are thin on the ground. Leaves pile up on the tracks and creek banks. The remaining volunteers resort to using leaf blowers, which scare the birds. They pump water from the creek to hose the leaf litter covering tree roots to protect them from the searing midday sun. Perspiration flows in tiny tributaries as the few willing workers try to tend to the landscape.
Some children recover while others become worse. No word yet from the Ministry of Health about the source or cause of the outbreak.
Selena, the primary school principal, notices that dragonflies no longer skim the creek. She collects and sends off samples of creek water, riparian plants and soil to colleagues at the CSIRO. Born and raised at Kiewa Creek, Selena trained in ecology and founded the Riparian Regeneration Group. Her enthusiasm sparked the village’s interest in studying and caring for the creek and its surrounds. She continues to be a motivating force in the community.
Under a high dome of a cloudless sky, Kiewa Creek is a shady oasis of relief from draining heat and burning irritation. Lying in the shallows to read or gossip or watch over small children is still a favourite pastime.
Sunday, 8 March
Government officials appear in the village, poking in their noses and asking questions. Apparently some of them are doctors. Gossip ratchets up a few notches. The words ‘disease’ and ‘infection’ – even ‘Ebola’ – circulate. Residents scratch their heads as they struggle to remember anybody who has been on holiday or had visitors lately, and speculate about ‘weekenders’ who may have visited foreign shores. Selena and Dr Andrew stave off questions.
‘Are you going to tell us what’s going on?’ ‘Why are we being treated like idiots?’ ‘Will our kids be okay?’
‘Not to mention the rest of us, we’re all worried here.’
‘We can’t say yet,’ says Dr Andrew. ‘The wrong information won’t do you any good. Please be patient.’
The officials won’t reveal their reasons for visiting this small community that’s so unremarkable it’s difficult even to find on a map. Except for approvals of Development Applications to build homes, the regular rate notices and maintenance on the main roads before State Government elections, the place is normally all but forgotten by all three tiers of government.
The Riparian Regeneration Group is invited to participate in ‘voluntary interviews’, in which they are grilled by officials. Even after answering the questions, the volunteers are no wiser as to the reason for the investigation, though some say they recall an unusual odour of aniseed or liquorice at the creek lately. Swabs are taken from the cabins and trays of Utes and trucks in the local area. Car boots are searched. The officials interview the manager of the Trading Post.
‘We need a list of anyone who has bought liquid fertiliser, chemicals, or containers for such products.’
‘It’ll take a couple of days to go through the receipts, but I can get the information you need,’ Harry says. ‘What’s the time frame?’
‘We’ll start with the past month and work back from there.’ Harry nods.
‘And do us a favour, don’t go telling everyone about this.’
On the surface, life is going on as usual – but suspicion, slander and superstition are rife. Locals brood over the continuing outbreaks of skin and throat irritations, and the peculiar interest of the government in their neck of the woods.
Sunday, 15 March
A cool change blows through the village. It feels like autumn. The window of the Trading Post displays fire-lighters, tins of powdered chocolate and packets of marshmallows, as well as locally designed and knitted beanies and scarves.
Selena leaves for the city, to confer with her colleagues and get to the bottom of this sudden government interest in her community.
Dr Andrew contacts the Ministry of Health. The reports he should have had days ago still haven’t arrived.
Fewer volunteers and a drop in air temperature mean less activity down at the creek, though the weather is mild enough for a dip during the middle of the day. Naturally, the children still flock to the water – one of their favourite haunts.
Sunday, 22 March
In the dark of the moon, two babies and three toddlers are sent to the children’s hospital in the city.
Their infections have become serious.
Selena visits Dr Andrew on her return from the city. They ask all residents and visitors to attend a public meeting at the school next Sunday morning.
Locals also receive letters from the Ministry of Health advising of an information session next Sunday, which they will hold at the public school hall. In the meantime, the creek is under a safety assessment and off-limits to all except authorised personnel.
Riparian Regeneration Group volunteers wear protective clothing as they erect barriers and signs with a skull and crossbones along the creek banks.
Apart from avoiding the creek, residents continue to live as normally as they can. Gossip goes on unabated. Everyone has a theory, a solution or a cure, if only people would listen.
Discussions continue long into the night outside the Trading Post and Harry obliges by closing the shop later and later. Dr Andrew warns against using alternative therapies until it is clear what they are dealing with. People are more circumspect after that. Harry optimistically orders Easter eggs in shiny foil, along with extra groceries for the holiday period, then adds more home remedies and comfort items to the list.
Sunday, 29 March
The number of visiting officials and their staff grows. Police officers arrive to investigate the problem. Everyone but the hermits is interviewed. Medics from the Ministry take over Dr Andrew’s rooms. Specialists prod and pinch and paint the 112 local residents with potions. Assessors from the Department of Agriculture check local produce and water supplies. Journalists arrive to investigate the cause of all the activity.
Caravans are parked alongside the creek. The visitors commandeer a mobile canteen and set it up on the oval.
In a show of solidarity with the residents, Harry at the Trading Post increases his standing order for supplies of fresh fruit and vegetables, eggs, and prettily decorated jars of honey and preserves from local producers, and readjusts his order for alcohol.
Everyone in the village attends the public meeting called by Dr Andrew and Selena. Even the hermits appear and hover in the doorway. The principal’s expression is sombre as she announces the results of her independent inquiry and her analysis of samples taken in and around the creek, subject to official confirmation by the experts.
‘Not long after the New Year, a spill occurred upstream in Kiewa Creek,’ Selena says to the worried locals. ‘It went unnoticed and unreported. While the source of the spill and the exact composition is still under investigation, it appears to have affected our community. My own investigation implicates a chemical compound often used for coal cleaning. Whether it leaked accidentally or was dumped waste is still to be confirmed.’
She looks to Dr Andrew.
‘So far, bore water and tank water tested are clear,’ he says. ‘But you should wash all produce thoroughly with bottled water and use bottled water for drinking and cleaning teeth for the time being. At least until official clearance is given.
‘As a precaution, the creek, creek banks and several hundred metres either side are declared strictly out of bounds until further notice. The pristine springs should help dilute the spill, if it hasn’t seeped through to the water table.’
A ripple runs through the hall. Dr Andrew continues.
‘It looks as if the health problems will be temporary for most. All the symptoms suffered fit Selena’s hypothesis. While there is no specific data on the toxic effects of this chemical compound – no known long-term carcinogenic effects or developmental toxicity – it is noted that it may cause harm if ingested or inhaled. It may have adverse effects on those with suppressed immune systems. But those who have been hospitalised are improving and are expected to recover.’
The afternoon meeting called by the Ministry of Health is less straightforward. The locals sense a cover-up as officious public servants beat around the bush and fend off questions, while insisting that all is under control, that the creek will be properly fenced and sealed off, and that a crisis management team will assist residents. When the question is raised of compulsory or forced evacuation, the information providers clam up. One moron jokes that the reports state that their exposure to small
amounts of a chemical diluted in creek water will not cause residents to drop dead any time soon. A senior medic frowns and advises everyone to avoid the creek and to drink and use only bottled water because at this point in time it is the sensible thing to do.
Complimentary bottles of water are handed out. Selena wants to know who will collect and dispose of the mountain of empty plastic bottles piling up in the school recycling skip. She tells the officials that everyone in this community is responsible for the disposal of their own rubbish and waste, there is no council collection service.
Sunday, 5 April
Easter Sunday. The sun is shining, and a few residents drive off to a church or club in town or to the Easter holiday markets. At home, parents hide Easter eggs for excited children. Nobody has friends or relatives visiting this year. Even the weekenders are keeping away.
All week, Kiewa Creek teemed with anonymous figures in hazmat outfits, some putting up permanent barriers and signage, others taking more samples from the creek and surrounds.
In a few days, results will confirm the spill, its extent, how far it has leached into the creek bed and whether it has affected the effervescent springs from the water table deep below. The official results from testing bore and tank water will be available. Arborists are coming to check the state of the trees and plants, once the level of contamination is established.
The locals try their best to stay calm and carry on but the jitters don’t subside easily. No spume, no discolouration, no obvious sign of adulteration can be seen with the naked eye. Kiewa Creek is eerily silent and the water remains crystal clear as it snakes its way through the valley.
First Published University of Technology anthology 2016 ‘Stones and Skeletons’.
