Connection, purpose and the power of support networks in disaster recovery.
Sometimes we don't realise the difference we can make in someone's life simply by picking up the phone, making an introduction or connecting two people who might be able to help each other.
I've been thinking about that a lot this week.
After four days travelling through the bushfire affected communities of Murrindindi and Strathbogie on our Cuppa and Conversations tour, I've come home carrying plenty of conversations.
Some filled with gratitude and hope. Others with frustration, uncertainty and the emotional weight of nine months of recovery.
But one particular one unexpected pleasure.
At the Highlands Hub, completely by chance, I finally met Mel Peverill from GIVIT.
Now, that might not sound like a big deal. Two people who have been talking on the phone finally meeting face to face.
But there's a much bigger story behind that meeting.
And I reckon there's something in it for all of us.
Sometimes what people lose can't be measured in dollars
When I first visited the Highlands Hub in the weeks following the January bushfires, I could see the enormous physical damage that had been done.
Properties devastated. Sheds and equipment destroyed. Fences gone. Trees down. Access tracks blocked.
But there was something else that concerned me just as much.
Something that wasn't necessarily visible in the damage assessments.
The loss of purpose.
For many people living in rural communities, particularly older farmers, their identity is closely connected to what they do.
Their ability to work, fix things, maintain their property, lend a hand to a neighbour or contribute to their community.
It's not just what they do. It's part of who they are.
And when a lifetime of tools and equipment disappears in a fire, the loss can be far greater than their financial value.
Think about someone who has spent 50 or 60 years being the person others turn to when something needs fixing.
Someone who has always been independent, capable and willing to lend a hand.
Then suddenly they find themselves in a position where they can't even do the things they've always done for themselves.
That's an enormous adjustment.
And when you add grief, trauma, isolation and uncertainty to that loss, the impact on someone's mental health can be significant.
I know from my own experience how confronting it can be when the things that have defined you are suddenly taken away.
When I walked away from farming, I didn't just leave behind a business and a property.
I left behind a big part of my identity.
And I know how difficult it can be to find your feet again when you no longer feel like the person you once were.
That experience has shaped the way I look at recovery.
Because rebuilding someone's capacity isn't always about telling them how strong or resilient they are.
Sometimes it's about helping them find a reason to get up tomorrow and something meaningful they can do when they do.
Tools for Purpose
That thinking led me to develop an idea called Tools for Purpose.
The concept was pretty simple.
Get tools, particularly chainsaws and other practical equipment, back into the hands of people who had lost them.
But the purpose behind the idea went much deeper.
It wasn't about charity or simply replacing possessions.
It was about restoring the opportunity for people to contribute.
To clear a fallen tree, work on a fence line, help a neighbour or tackle a job alongside someone else.
To feel useful again.
To regain a little independence and control.
To create opportunities for connection through doing something together.
Because there's something I've noticed over many years of working with individuals and communities.
Some of our most meaningful conversations don't happen sitting across a table from someone, looking them in the eye and asking how they're feeling.
They happen standing beside someone.
Working on a job. Leaning against a ute. Sharing a cuppa after a hard day's work.
Sometimes having something to do takes the pressure off having to talk.
And those conversations can open doors that might otherwise have stayed closed.
For me, Tools for Purpose was about creating more of those opportunities.
But I also knew I couldn't make it happen on my own.
The connection that made the difference
That's where Jodie Willmer came in.
Jodie connected me with Mel Peverill from GIVIT.
Mel and I first spoke in February, during those difficult early weeks of recovery.
I shared what I had seen, what concerned me and what I believed the community needed.
And Mel listened.
That's an important part of this story.
She listened.
Not just to me, but to the Highlands Hub and the people who understood what their community needed.
And from that first conversation, things started happening.
Over the following eight months, GIVIT worked closely with the Highlands Hub to connect the community with hundreds of donated items.
Chainsaws, work gloves, hoses, high-visibility vests, grocery vouchers, fuel vouchers, hardware vouchers, a printer and even a washing machine for the community laundry.
Practical things that respond to real needs.
But what impresses me most is that the support hasn't been about turning up once, delivering a few things and disappearing.
It's been about continuing the relationship, listening as needs change and responding wherever possible.
Because the needs of a community nine months after a disaster can look very different from what they were in the first few weeks.
And that's why connection and continuity matter so much.
It's not really about the tools
A chainsaw is a chainsaw.
But in the hands of someone who has lost the ability to look after their property or help their neighbours, it can represent something far more important.
Independence.
Confidence.
Purpose.
A reason to get out and do something.
An opportunity to work alongside someone else.
A chance to give back rather than always feeling like the person receiving help.
Now, I'm not suggesting a chainsaw or a voucher fixes the emotional consequences of a disaster.
Of course it doesn't.
Recovery is far more complex than that.
But I do believe meaningful, practical support can help create the conditions in which people begin to rebuild their confidence and capacity.
And sometimes those small steps are incredibly important.
There's dignity in being able to do something for yourself.
There's connection in doing something with someone else.
And there's a real sense of belonging that comes from knowing you still have something to contribute.
That's what Tools for Purpose was designed to recognise.
Who's in your corner? And whose corner are you in?
One of the things I talk about regularly in my Capacity Before Crisis work is the importance of connection and support networks.
Having people we can turn to when life gets tough.
People who will listen without judgement, check in when things aren't going well, and help us find support when we need it.
But meeting Mel this week reminded me of another side of that conversation.
A support network isn't only about the people who can support us. It's also about the people we can help connect to each other.
Think about that for a moment.
I recognised a need, but I didn't have the resources to meet it.
Jodie knew someone who might be able to help.
Mel had access to a network and an organisation that could turn community needs into practical support.
The Highlands Hub had the local knowledge, relationships and understanding of what was needed on the ground.
And through those connections, something meaningful happened.
No single person had all the answers.
No one person could have done it alone.
But together, people were able to make a difference.
I think that's something we need to remember, not just in disaster recovery, but in our workplaces, organisations, families and everyday lives.
We put enormous pressure on ourselves to have the answers, particularly when someone comes to us for help.
But we don't always need to have the answers.
Sometimes our greatest contribution is knowing someone who might.
And being prepared to make that introduction.
Connection needs to become action
Over the past nine months, I've seen some extraordinary examples of people supporting people across bushfire-affected communities.
Volunteers giving their time.
Neighbours helping neighbours.
Local organisations continuing to turn up long after the immediate emergency has passed.
People working behind the scenes who may never receive recognition for the difference they're making.
But I've also heard the other side.
People feeling forgotten.
People who are exhausted from navigating systems and trying to work out where to turn.
People carrying more than they can sustainably carry.
And as we move towards summer, with changing weather, rising anxiety for some and the first anniversary of the fires getting closer, those connections are going to become even more important.
Because recovery doesn't follow a neat timeline.
And the need for support doesn't disappear simply because the visible signs of disaster begin to fade.
We need to keep listening.
We need to keep checking in.
And we need to keep connecting people with the resources, opportunities and relationships that can make their recovery a little easier.
That's why organisations like GIVIT and community-led places like the Highlands Hub are so important.
They help turn goodwill into something practical.
They help make sure support responds to what people actually need.
And they remind people they haven't been forgotten.
Never underestimate one conversation
I want to finish by acknowledging Mel Peverill and the team at GIVIT, Jodie Willmer for making that original introduction, and the remarkable people at the Highlands Hub who continue to show up for their community.
It was a privilege to finally meet Mel and reflect on what has happened since that first phone call in February.
What started as a concern about people losing the ability to do the things that gave their lives purpose became a conversation.
That conversation became a connection.
And that connection has helped bring hundreds of practical donations into a community working its way through an incredibly difficult recovery.
I think there's a lesson in that for all of us.
We don't have to do everything ourselves.
We don't have to fix every problem.
And we certainly don't have to have every answer.
But we can listen.
We can notice where someone is struggling.
We can share what we know, offer what we can and connect people with those who might be able to help.
Because sometimes the most valuable thing we have to offer someone isn't what we own, what we know or what we can give them.
It's who we can connect them with.
And you never really know how far that one connection might go.