February's Wild Reckoning: Transforming the Serenity of Summer-Emptied Streets in My Town
Embracing the Unconventional Charm of Brisbane's Summer Retreat
To remain in hot Brisbane during January is to experience a holiday in reverse—a unique perspective on the city's rhythm. While lacking the allure of surf and sea breezes, those who linger in the city find solace in its temporary transformation. A nostalgic journey back to the late '70s unveils a Brisbane where roads are uncrowded, and parking spaces conveniently align with shopfronts. The annual exodus of residents to the Gold Coast or Sunshine Coast bestows upon the remaining few a city reminiscent of teenage years—a time when car air conditioning meant rolling down windows.
In these simple times, the absence of the usual hustle allows for a shared recognition of the familiar. The deserted streets, a gift to those enduring the summer heat, offer a different kind of luxury. While the coastal escapes indulge in surf and swims, Brisbane retains an unspoken invitation for exploration without the usual urban constraints.
This reverse holiday, characterized by the city's empty spaces, contrasts with the conventional escape—no packing, no long drives out of town. The essence of summer remains unchanged, with the gradual rise in heat and humidity, conversations about scorching Christmas days, and hopeful predictions of rain. A nostalgic throwback to the '70s kitchen scenes, where roasts and steamed puddings turned homes into furnaces, illustrates the enduring traditions.
However, the transformation lies in the altered climate patterns, with earlier and extended summers shifting the balance of seasons. Despite the heat, Brisbane unveils its true charm from mid-May to early September—a dreamlike period when the city becomes an ideal destination. As the summers lengthen and the winters warm, Brisbane's unconventional allure continues to redefine the notion of a holiday in reverse, inviting those who stay to relish the city's distinct, untold tales.
Embarking on the Wild Ride: February's Unveiling in the Green Western Suburbs
The annual reckoning begins as early as February, marking the return of everyone to town and signaling a relentless surge until the arrival of Easter. A price willingly paid for the laid-back lifestyle in the lush western suburbs, prompting some to pack coats and seek refuge in cooler southern cities. With school routines reinstated and the promise of a new year ahead, the daytime skies don a fresh allure—a vibrant, intense dark blue that lingers throughout the day, coaxing fans and air conditioning into action long after sunset.
A more ominous shift takes place in the afternoon with the arrival of clouds, triggering a collective town-wide vigil on the horizon. Leaves rustle in the trees, birds add their cacophony, and loose veranda furniture finds its way indoors. Storm is on the horizon! Memories from the 60s resurface, where storms every Friday disrupted inter-school cricket games, a poignant weekly highlight for the author in primary school.
The approaching clouds were dark heralds, capable of abruptly halting the cricket game, cracking thunder, and unleashing torrents of tropical rain on the oval. Depending on the storm's intensity, the game either succumbed to a washout or resumed 15 minutes later, with a fine mist rising from the still-sizzling concrete pitch. Rain, however disruptive, brought relief. Front and back doors swung open as people watched rain cascade off roofs and down gutters, basking in the 10°C temperature drop. Palms upturned, some ventured onto lawns to feel the healing drops, knowing that, despite the post-downpour tasks awaiting them, the gardens were on the cusp of explosion.
As the rain subsides, the soundscape transforms. The familiar summer symphony of whipper snippers and lawn mowers, accompanied by Jim Maxwell's cricket commentary on ABC, signifies the impending burst of greenery. A fearful yet necessary sound, as without it, lawns and foliage would overtake homes. With windows wide open and cooling devices silenced, the most cherished gift of a Brisbane summer is bestowed—a cool night. It's a fleeting respite but not uncommon, for like all things, especially those intertwined with the whims of weather, summer's ebb and flow unfolds. Days below 30°C are greeted with gratitude, while those exceeding this mark are stoically borne until Easter, the harbinger of the long glide into milder days. Authored by Robert Forster, a renowned singer-songwriter, music critic, and founding member of the Go-Betweens.
As February unfolds its wild ride in the green western suburbs of Brisbane, the annual narrative of storms, cricket disruptions, and refreshing rains takes center stage. The familiar symphony of nature, accompanied by the buzzing sounds of whipper snippers and lawn mowers, announces the imminent explosion of gardens—a necessary but fearful prospect. Yet, it is in this harmonious chaos that the true essence of a Brisbane summer is revealed.
The cool nights, welcomed with open windows and stilled air conditioning, offer a sweet reprieve amid the relentless heat. The collective sigh of relief echoes as raindrops fall, bringing both disruption and much-needed respite. As the stormy interludes pass, the anticipation of gardens bursting into vibrant life takes hold, promising a transformation that mirrors the cyclical nature of summers in the city.
In the author's nostalgic recollections and vivid descriptions, we glimpse not just the meteorological nuances but also the emotional tapestry woven through the seasons. The ritualistic cricket games disrupted by Friday storms, the communal watchfulness as clouds gather on the horizon, and the shared joy in the healing touch of raindrops create a collective memory, connecting past and present.
As the author, Robert Forster, encapsulates the seasonal rhythms and nuances of Brisbane's summers, we are reminded that, like all things, summer waxes and wanes. The rule of bearing any day above 30°C until Easter holds true, but with the approaching transition, the promise of milder days emerges. Through Forster's narrative, we traverse the distinctive journey of a Brisbane summer—a journey marked by storms, rains, the cacophony of nature, and the collective resilience of a community embracing the ebb and flow of the season.