Living in the countryside of the southern Algarve, the destructive force of summer wildfires has become part of our reality. In the ten years since I moved here, our community has already faced two existential threats from the fire element.
The first time was in 2020. My son was still young, so we evacuated and stayed with a dear friend until the danger passed. Coming back “home” while others we knew had lost everything to the flames felt bittersweet—relief mixed with sorrow.
The second great fire came just recently, starting on Sunday, September 21st. That morning we attended a breathwork event, unaware of the unforgettable imprint the coming days would leave in our nervous systems. Driving home, we saw the terrifying, swelling cloud of smoke. The wind was wild, like a child in full tantrum, throwing itself across the land without mercy. Within hours, the fire had turned in our direction.
And so we packed. Again. But this time with more calm and clarity. Walking through your home, deciding what might be the only things left tomorrow, is surreal. Photos, diaries, artwork, books, clothes that carry stories—objects infused with memory and love.
The little hill at the entrance to our farm became the heart of our community during those days. We gathered there in silence, sometimes speaking, sometimes just holding each other’s presence. We watched the fire devour the hillsides like a hungry beast, swallowing life as it advanced.
My partner Mattie, with the help of dear friends, worked tirelessly to contain smaller flames, preventing them from growing into something worse. This time, our son joined them. He worked through fear, finding his strength and endurance. It was his initiation.
By day two, after watering every corner around the houses, cutting new fire lines with the tractor, and removing gas bottles, we had done everything we could. The police had urged us to evacuate hours earlier, yet we remained calm, choosing to stay at our own risk. We trusted our knowledge of the land and felt confident that at least one exit would remain open. But then, the body knows. Beneath all reason, a deeper instinct stirred—the fierce inner mother rising with the impulse to protect. Suddenly, it was clear: my son and our cats needed to be safe beyond the flames. I asked dear friends, who had supported us tirelessly, to take them. Only when they had left did I feel the full weight of the danger—and just as I stood at the edge of surrender, more than 20 fire trucks appeared.
For three days and nights, 44 bombeiros (firefighters) stayed on our land. Their presence, their courage, and their human warmth created an unexpected bond. We offered them as much comfort as we could—food, space to rest, and, most of all, connection. Many slept in the local school, where we usually host our Slow Sex Practice—if only they knew what usually unfolds between those walls! Amidst the adrenaline and sleepless nights, there was also a lot of humour and laughter, deep conversations, and surprising intimacy with these men and women who stood side by side with us.
When they left, the commander gave a moving speech of gratitude for the hospitality he and his team had received. We hugged each of the 44 fire fighters, one by one. As their trucks rolled away, sirens and blue lights no longer meant danger—they meant victory, together.
Twice we have been lucky. Twice we have been reminded: in crisis, community is everything. Alone, the fire could have broken us. Together, we became stronger than the flames.
For me, the tools of Voice Dialogue and the Slow Sex Movement have been vital. Voice Dialogue taught me to welcome the many inner voices that surfaced in those days—panic, the caretaker, the strategist, the mother—and to hold them with presence rather than being taken over by any single one. The Slow Sex practice, with its deep focus on breath, slowness, and intimacy with the moment, allowed me to stay connected to my body and heart even as fear threatened to overwhelm me. These practices remind me that safety does not only come from outside forces—it can also be cultivated within.
Now that the nightmare is over, our community feels empowered, grateful, and more committed than ever to caring for this land. Mattie and his reforestation team are on fire. They are already offering free workshops to help nature recover and to teach resilience for the future.
Hubert, the visionary founder of Vinha Velha, was with us in spirit. He dreamed of creating new ways of relating—to nature, and to one another. In the face of fire, that vision lives on.
Because when the flames come, what protects us most is not only water lines, tractors, or even fire trucks. It is connection—to ourselves, to each other, and to the living world we call home.
Big shout-out to our dear Mattie!
If you want to dive deep into the pioneering work of Mattie, make sure to bring a little time and curiosity — and tune into the incredible podcast he recently recorded with our friend Igor. Yes, it’s a long one… but every minute is so worth it.
Mattie shares a wealth of wisdom — not only about fire prevention and ecosystem restoration, but also about his deeply holistic approach to creating a new culture of relating. You’ll hear his inspiring perspectives on men’s work, plant medicine, and the broader vision that guides his life’s mission.
Listen here: Podcast with Igor
Learn more about Mattie’s work: www.risingfromtheroots.nl
Follow him on Instagram: @restorenaturecollective
Mattie has been a key member of the Slow Sex Movement, bringing heart, groundedness, and an unwavering commitment to restoration — of nature, community, and the human spirit. We’re so grateful for his presence and his vision. 
