When life gets blowy, we sit and wait it out
10 things to be grateful for before Cyclone Fina hits town
In just a couple of hours, Cyclone Fina will be brushing past us. The wind is already pushing hard against the house, the banana trees are bending sideways, and the frogs — of course — are still singing like it’s just another evening. We know she’s near. And here we are, taking a quiet moment to share our gratitude before she arrives.
1. Green tree frogs
Green tree frogs are one of the purest reminders that we live in the tropics. They signal the rain coming and orchestrate their own chorus as the storm rolls in. Sometimes they get so loud (especially when they wedge themselves into gutters or downpipes) that we have to put subtitles on whatever movie we’re watching — there’s no point fighting frogs; you just learn to live with them.
When we first moved to Darwin, I used to beg my husband to go and find them and take them away so I could get some peace. They’d wake me up at night, stop me falling asleep, and make me a little mad. But over the years? Their sound has become a lullaby. When Marcus hit in 2018, we woke up to a swimming pool full of frog eggs. While everyone else hides, the green frogs seem to celebrate the storm — reminding us that nature will do as she pleases and we’re simply lucky enough to witness it.
2. The vivid green garden
After a dry, dusty mid-year and the burn-off, these early wet-season rains make everything explode with colour. The yard turns vivid green, bamboo heavy with leaves, banana trees thick with foliage, flame trees still in bloom, bell trees swaying like dancers.
The colours of the wet look like a scene from Jurassic Park (minus the man-eaters), reminding us that the ancient flora of the Top End has endured more than we ever will — and it’s still standing, thriving, glowing.
3. Nature’s contrasts
Nothing does contrast like the Top End. Black and grey storm clouds building over electric-green bushland. Red dirt roads. Blackened trunks from the burn-off still standing proud.
Down at the beach, dark clouds hover over bright turquoise water, framed by white limestone cliffs and long ribbons of orange sand. There’s no landscape more dramatic than the hours before a cyclone. Part of me wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
4. Circular rainy patterns
If you’ve never lived in cyclone country, you might not realise how circular the weather becomes. Even a day before landfall, the rain comes in rings — slow, wide cycles at first, then tightening and quickening as Fina pulls everything into her orbit.
You can literally plan your tasks between the pulses. The rhythm becomes unmistakable. It’s nature teaching us her patterns in real time.
5. Stuck at home
In a family of busy doers, being “stuck at home” feels like an unexpected luxury. We potter, we plan meals, we have dull but comforting conversations, we tolerate each other’s quirks, and we smile at the tiny rituals that make us family.
We take turns choosing movies — the boys always winning, which means never a Rom-Com in sight — but I still sit there, complaining without leaving, making popcorn while I can. And when the frogs crescendo or the rain becomes too heavy on the tin roof, on go the subtitles again.
6. The big clean-up
You never realise how much useless stuff you’ve collected until pre-cyclone cleanup day. Yesterday I finally got rid of things my husband (the hoarder) had held onto for far too long — an unused birdcage (“just in case” we got another bird), offcuts from our renovation, boxes kept to store things we didn’t need.
What I love most is that nothing truly goes to waste here. Someone in town will find that birdcage next week and think it’s the best score ever (it was a $500 cage!).
Trips to the hard rubbish tip become a social event in a tiny community — neighbours comparing cyclone prep, swapping gossip, checking in on each other, and offering help. Pre-cyclone energy brings out the best in people, even the hermits.
7. Baking family favourites
My husband came home with enough Monte Carlo biscuits to feed half the NT, which is typical. I, on the other hand, dive into baking. Something about being homebound with the people you love brings out that nurturing instinct.
It feels a bit like Christmas — all the old recipes come out, and we realise most of them require the same can of condensed milk. We bake nostalgic treats we’d never justify in normal life and embrace the sugar high with zero shame. If we’re stuck watching movies we don’t actually want to watch, with subtitles because of the frogs, we might as well eat the good stuff.
8. Games of old
Growing up, board games were a staple. Now they only emerge for cyclones and blackouts. We’ve piled them on the kitchen bench next to the candles and headlamps, ready for when the power inevitably flicks off.
Board games bring out everyone’s competitive streak — and the childhood memories. If we make it through a game of Monopoly without someone cracking it, I’ll probably have the most houses while my son holds all the cash. Some things never change.
9. Getting handy
Living remote means the power will almost certainly go out — probably for at least a day. And of course, all three of our generators decided to stop working this morning. Tropical life at its finest.
Thankfully, we’re a handy bunch, so my husband spent the morning servicing all three so we can keep our freezers running and maybe offer a fan to anyone who needs it once the worst passes and the mozzies arrive to reclaim the land.
10. Reflecting
When we first moved here, I was scared — scared of the storms, scared of the unknown, scared of the sheer force of nature in the Top End. Over time, that fear has shifted into awe.
Here, we see nature at her fiercest. But she also gives us some of the most breathtaking moments you’ll ever witness. Today I find myself reflecting on the land we call home. This place sits in your bones. It teaches you resilience, humility, reverence.
Once Fina moves through, we will still love this place — because nature is where we belong, and this land has our heart.
Wishing everyone in the NT a safe passage as Cyclone Fina — now a Category 3 — dances across the Top End, touching communities more remote than most Australians could imagine.
We choose to live here because of the rawness, the wildness, the remoteness. And we wouldn’t have it any other way.
It’s time to bunker down. Fina is predicted to hit in just a couple of hours, and she’s growing. Stay safe, stay connected, and may we all come out the other side with gratitude intact.