Georgetown, from the air, looks as if it shouldn’t exist: a scattering of buildings, swallowed up in the vast landscape of scored earth and trees.
Isolation is simply a fact of life for the town’s 300 or so inhabitants, who live over 200 miles from a major city. Fresh fruit and vegetables arrive once a week, and a hairdresser visits once a month. Survival lies on two pillars, people there explained: a hardy self-reliance and a fierce sense of community.
That assessment seemed especially prescient in the months to come, as isolation came to mean protection from the coronavirus, and staying at home became a duty to halt the outbreak’s spread.
I had traveled to Georgetown last year to understand the challenges of health care away from the coastal hubs that most Australians live in, and to shadow health care workers at the Royal Flying Doctor Service, an aeromedical organization that provides medical care to those in the nation’s hard-to-reach communities.
The service’s planes are known as airborne ambulances of sorts, with patients retrieved and treated on board hours away from the CT scanners of major hospitals. But its fly-in doctors also act as primary care physicians, and their weekly visits are the only chance for many to seek a diagnosis.
“Without this service, you wouldn’t be able to live here,” said Greg Ryan, a cattle farmer who had taken a rare morning off to get some sunspots checked out.
“You can’t say, ‘Hey, come back tomorrow and I can have another look,” said Dr. Yvonne Doveren, who had begun that day 240 miles away in the city of Cairns.
It is not an easy existence in places like Georgetown: With remote life come long travel times, harsh weather and scarcity, residents say. And there can be loneliness and the expectation of independence, which means social networks take on an outsize importance. Technology is trying to fill the gap where face-to-face interaction is impossible, from tele-health calls to Facebook groups, much as it has for others in lockdown.
But the distance has played a part in insulating many from the worst of the coronavirus. Away from Australia’s two most populous hubs in New South Wales and Victoria, the rest of the country has had comparatively few cases. Officials moved quickly to cut off Indigenous communities in the Top End from visitors to keep the virus out.
And for many city dwellers, tired of high property prices and the clamoring closeness of the metropolitan, the space of a more regional life are growing more appealing. The quiet of the land and the promise of simplicity draws the heart.
But I think often these days of that feeling of being separate yet together that I found in Georgetown. Isolated we may be, we must pull together to survive.
If you are in the city, are you thinking of relocating to somewhere more remote? And if you live in regional Australia, how has the outbreak affected you? Write to us at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Now, for the stories of the week.
… And Over to You
Last week, Dr. Amaali Lokuge, an emergency physician at the Royal Melbourne Hospital, wrote about the ways Covid-19 has eroded humanity. Here’s one response:
I do not see that the Covid crisis, itself, has reduced or challenged our humanity. A pre-virus check on nursing home reports will show that inhumanity was already there. Once we cared for our elder relatives ourselves, as a family.
Isolation used to be very common, especially in rural areas, and there were ways people handled it. Where I grew up, we heard that there was a kid who would kick the cats and throw rocks at dogs, today he comes to your Facebook and throws nasty comments. With entertainment media so handy, we have lost the art of making our own entertainment. Once we wrote letters and waited weeks for a reply.
There are many lessons to be learned during this epic life-changing shutdown. One may be that we need to rediscover the ability to be happy with ourselves and the ones around us.
— Kathleen Bennett
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