Waking up in a smoke haze and switching on the radio or television to hear reports of devastated communities and see images of burned out homes, had it feeling a little selfish to celebrate.

There was a 'survivor's guilt' feel about buying presents and decorating trees when people were living in fear and volunteer firefighters were spending their holidays protecting them.

New Years Eve felt like a fizzle even before the fireworks were cancelled.

And while fires raged just over the mountains before Christmas and engulfed areas north and south of Orange, it felt strangely distant being the safe neighbour.

But as the weeks have gone on and the fire front has spread, the fires ravaging other people's homes have become close-to-home for many of us.

It hit home for me when I heard of a heavily-pregnant friend in Bruthen calling her brother at 2am to ask if she should pack up the two-year-old and evacuate.

Her partner was a way for work and she was scared. And it turned out she was right to be, her neighbours have since lost their homes.

Then on Monday this week my dad, Ken Crowe, posted a photo on Facebook from the caravan park in Mallacoota.

His feet in a bucket of water, he had a beer in one hand and a hose in the other.

'Ready for action', he captioned it.

On a camping holiday with his wife, Gail Crowe, the pair had found themselves stuck at the lakeside camp park when the roads either side of them were closed.

There was a brief moment on Monday when the thousands of holiday makers in the town of 1300 were given the option to leave, but dad had thought it overly cautious.

'I thought we'd be better off here than sitting in traffic for hours and hours trying to get out,' he'd told me.

Further down the coast in Bairnsdale, mum's neighbour knocked on the door and told her to pack a bag 'just in case' they needed to evacuate.

The 15,000 or so locals in my home town peered out of their windows this week to see billowing black smoke rolling towards them.

But all my loved ones are safe. It has been a week of apprehension, not fear, but the crisis no longer feels far away.

The towns of my childhood and the people who populate them weren't thinking about missing fireworks this year.

Anyone who takes annual trips to the coast has stopped at the same ones along the way and made memories in their parks, pubs and bakeries.

Places like Jugiong and Brogo or Cobargo, where two people were confirmed dead and the main street was left in ruins this week.

While we are fortunate enough to live somewhere out of danger, many of us have connection through memories, friends or family to places not so lucky.

There has been moments this Christmas when I've felt frustrated by the smoke before I've remembered that we've got it good.

Good compared to Lithgow, good compared to Cobargo, good compared to Mallacoota.

My dad stood on the foreshore of the lake on Tuesday with a crowd of strangers and watched as fires engulfed homes across the lake at Bastion Point.

'Bit shit, eh?' he said to a man beside him.

'Especially since that one's my home,' the man replied.

Navy ships, thirsty wildlife and evacuated homes no longer feels so distant.

Alex Crowe is a journalist at the Central Western Daily