Raining In The Bush

This was this week's instalment in the QCL. I actually wrote parts of it three years ago when we had a surplus of rain. Sadly, we missed all the rain in Queensland this week, but I submitted this piece as many people across the state DID actually see some good falls. Also, the roads around our house have been fixed up well enough that I no longer fear the inevitable 4WD adventure after heavy rain! But this is the story anyway.

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This week we had some rain. I know this because The Farmer woke up and announced loudly that it was raining. And then I was annoyed. Not at the rain, only at The Farmer for waking me up. He then proceeded to tell me every five 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. 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 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 truly not complaining. 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, unwilling recipients in my father's quest for excitement. It was actually fun, I think. But now that I am all grown up and in the driver's seat, it's very different.

The Farmer would be rolling his eyes and snickering at my apparent ineptness in the world of driving in the wet. I consider myself to be a good driver. I should be, my father is a driving instructor. In fact, The Farmer 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 on my own. Even though I am very grateful for the rain, I prefer it on days when I am staying home. 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. Rain and sleep in equal measure.