This week we had some rain. I know this because CP woke up and announced loudly that it was raining. And then I was annoyed. Not at the rain, only at CP, for waking me up. He then proceded to tell me every 5 minutes that it was still raining, or (if it was no longer raining) then he would speculate on how much rain we had already had, or how much he was still expecting. As it turns out, the storm was all bark and no bite, and sadly, we only ended up with about 1/8th of an inch.
If you live on the east coast of
Australia (or in the tropics, or in fact any place where rain is common place)
this means bugger all. Firstly, you probably don't even know what an inch is
(especially if you are under 50 years of age), or you don't care what an inch
is. But essentially, an inch means you hear the gentle pitter patter of rain on
your roof for a period of minutes.
If you live where I live, an inch means
something else entirely. An inch (or 100 points, or 25 ml) means our tanks and
dams get a little fuller, our stock get a little more feed, and our crops get a
little much needed watering. An inch also means that if the dirt road into town
(all 20km of it to the bitumen) has been recently graded, there is every chance
I will need to put the car into 4WD. And compacting this, is the unwritten rule
of the bush that you can't complain about rain under any circumstances. Rain is
good. Even when it's flooding. And an inch is perfect. Despite any inconvenience
that it has caused me personally.
I'm not really complaining. (Oh, who am I
kidding? Yes I am.) Friends of mine can't even leave their property with an inch
of rain. So I consider myself lucky. But I am a city girl at heart, and the mere
thought of engaging in any 4WD activity is enough to put a thin layer of sweat
on my brow.
When I was a kid, my Dad was a member of
a 4WD club. This seems to give my husband endless hours of pleasure, imagining
me and my siblings strapped into the back of a 4WD, high tailing it to some
private property; unwilling recipients in my father's quest for excitement. It
was actually fun, I think. But now that I am all grown up, it's very
different.
Hubby would be rolling his eyes and
snickering at my apparent ineptness in the world of driving in the wet. And I
consider myself a good driver too. (I should be, my father is a driving
instructor. But as it has been pointed out to me before, if my father is a
doctor, it doesn't automatically make me a good doctor too.) In fact, hubby
probably could have handled the road today without the use of 4WD. But not me. My legs
start that uncontrollable "knock knocking", my knuckles turn white,and my brow
creases for the duration of the trip. I don't breathe properly, and the mere
whisper from a passenger is enough to send me off the deep end. I know some of
you reading this actually might even get off on 4WD-ing, but it's not my thing.
Not with three children in the back. And not even on my own. And even though I am
very grateful for the rain, I prefer it on days when I am staying home.
In the last three years we have been blessed with 'good seasons' (read; lots of rain). Three floods in three years in fact. On nights when it rains, hubby can barely contain his excitement. He's like a little kid at Christmas, and he wants to share it with the world.
And although I am always happy for good seasons, as a mother of three small children, I am just as grateful for a good night sleep.
