As Bernie Millar walks between the burnt-out remains of her tiny house and the tent she is currently living in, a maremma puppy scurries after her.
"That's Simba," she says.
Potted fruit trees sit near charred trunks.
New signs of life are everywhere on the 12-hectare block near Tara, on Queensland's Western Downs, where a bushfire ripped through just over two months ago.
But you don't have to look far to see reminders of the fire that up-ended Bernie's life.
During a February heatwave, multiple fires devastated the Darling Downs as they burnt for weeks through more than 150,000ha and destroyed more than 20 structures.
"Absolute devastation," Bernie says matter-of-factly, as she looks at the remains of what used to be her home.
50 minutes of hell
The memories of the bushfire are still vivid.
"It was a stinking hot day and it came so fast," she recalls.
There was no time to leave the property before the flames were at the doorstep.
She ran to the goat pen.
"I didn't even have time to put their collars on, I opened the gate, and just had to hope for the best."
Then Bernie ran to the property's dam, with her dog at her side.
"It was an old quarry, so the side of the dam was all rocks with no trees or grass, so it was quite clear," she says.
There she stayed, in the water, while the rest of her property burned.
"Luckily I had my phone with me," she says.
"It all happened around me.
"The dog was concerned, so I think a lot of that time was me telling her it was okay.
"The female goats followed me down to the dam too, so I spent most of the time making sure my animals were OK."
But not all her animals were OK.
She lost her 14-year-old companion dog Pearl, all the chickens and two buck goats.
"I also lost my son's ashes — so I've lost him a second time," she says.
The new normal
Two months on, the days are getting cooler.
Bernie's hours are spent cleaning the block, preparing to rebuild and looking after her beloved animals.
She drives a borrowed ute, which is parked near the burnt-out shell of her own car.
Bernie had also had to borrow tools, as most of her belongings were destroyed.
"Material possessions don't really mean that much to me, although this morning, I was trying to do a bit of fencing, and I thought, 'Why can't I find my wire cutters?'," she says.
"It's little things like that [and] you think, 'Oh, no, I actually I don't have that anymore'.
"And that's for everything."
Down the road, the fire trucks are all back in the shed after a horrid summer season.
But things are far from normal.
"Home is a tent at the moment," Bernie says.
She's turned down offers to move from the acreage into a house at the closest town, Tara, a 20-minute drive away.
"This is home, it's where I want to spend the rest of my life," she says.
"I'm not interested in moving and doing it again."
Rebuilding — and replanting — a life
Bernie has been living on her acreage for two years, moving from Victoria after her son died.
"I fell in love with it here," she says.
"It's pretty harsh country in some ways, because it's very rocky, but it's peaceful.
"You have to make the best of whatever happens, so I've tried to look at the positives."
She looks around at the blackened tree trunks that stretch all the way to where fences once stood.
"It'd be nice to have a bit more shade though," she laughs.
A plan for shade is underway, with pots of seedlings and new trees lining her tent.
"I come from farming stock," she explains.
"My great-great grandfather was a nurseryman and had written a book on apples so it's in my blood."
The short-term plan is to plant trees and clean up her block.
Then it's onto the long-term plan.
"The grant to rebuild isn't enough to employ a whole heap of people, so I now have to do a course to become a home owner-builder," she says.
But she is determined to live close to the dam that saved her life.
"The dam has always been special to me, because it's been my aircon," she says.
"Even before the fire, every time I got hot I'd jump into the dam fully clothed, and it would help keep me cool."
Near the dam a tiny seedling pops up between the rocks.
"It means there's still life here," Bernie smiles.
"And where there's life, there's always hope."
