Floods and other phenomena

The wild rye grass shimmies and dances in the wind, while the rain drops leave dark marks on the red earth and faded timber fences. This spring has been another year of unpredictable weather, leaping from blue skies and scorching sunshine to wild winds and torrential downpours. Travellers have always joked that Victoria can have four seasons in one day. Now it is more a case of four nature disasters in a day.

At a time of year when we are normally floating at the public pool until evening hours, trying to find some reprieve from the unrelenting heat. Instead, I find myself huddled inside, with a granny rug draped over my knees.

At least the floods seem to be taking a break, all be it for an unknown length of time. With everything at saturation point, it won’t take much to cover the roads and leave us all stranded in our communities and homes again.

The night the evacuation order went out was just the beginning for communities across the region. Being at the top of the water table, our floods come and go at a frightening pace. People rarely have time to prepare. Particularly this year with a call going out at 1.18am for people to immediately leave their homes. Slowly people staggered in at the Town Hall wearing pajamas and dressing gowns, or mismatched clothing they had snatched off the floor at speed, sleepy eyed and ill prepared for the long wait ahead.

Emergency services went door to door ensuring everyone received the evacuation order. “Grab your necessities and leave, now”, demanded the police and SES members banging on doors. A sense of panic started to reverberate throughout the community.

Some people refused, particularly when they realised the evacuation point was much lower than their own home. They returned to bed, but sleep eluded them. What if, what if? How are our elderly neighbours? What if the reservoir does break? How much water will roar down the spillway, along the creek and into our sleepy town. It’s an impossible concept to grasp, particularly when, only a few years ago, we were having to collect the water from our showers and laundry to water anything that had survived another year of drought.

In the Town Hall families huddle silently around oversized tables, sitting awkwardly on plastic chairs, waiting for the next update on the reservoir wall situation. The Lions Club members have arrived with their mobile kitchen and get a start of providing breakfast for the evacuees. They have raided the local butcher and café for frozen bread, sausages and eggs. If there is one thing that brings a small community together, it’s a hearty cooked Lions Club breakfast at times of need.

As the numbers at the Town Hall swell, police and local council workers are recognizing that 80 percent of the town is on higher ground than the Town Hall, so people are being sent home again with reassurances all is well. A group of visiting Dutch businessmen arrive looking very confused. They have left their BnB on the highest vantage point in the town, to walk down the hill to the Town Hall, get their name added to the list, then trudge back up the hill again.

Over the next few hours people eat their breakfast in small groups, slurp on their coffee and stare aimlessly out into the void of the Town Hall ceiling. Should have cleaned that better when we had the chance. Now everyone is going to see the draping spider webs.

A strange phenomena starts to develop, where the numbers of support crew starts to outweigh the actual evacuees. Classic small town generosity, where everyone wants to be a vital link in the rescue mission. Problems arise when the situation drags on for some time and those enthusiastic volunteers have burnt themselves out in the first 24 hours. Perhaps that’s why it is often external groups like Blaze Aid and Probus Clubs that take care of the recovery stage.

Now that the immediate danger and panic seems to have waned, many are there for the social aspect. How often do you have an event where all age groups, interests and affiliations are collected in one space. This is an auspicious moment in time and everyone wants to be part of it. Groups of fellas gather outside, puffing on their cancer sticks; while women huddle indoors with cups of tea and Cookies Cooka biscuits on the side of the saucer. In both scenarios, stories of valor and stupidity are exchanged with equal amounts of enthusiasm. Everyone loves the story of the city folks that ignored the road signage and tried to drive through the floodwaters. Local excavation drivers, had to come to the rescue of the people, leaving the expensive 4WD to float down the creek and wedge into a farm fence.

Admiration for the excavation company, a local family owned business, starts to grow as news spreads that it is these heroes who are shoring up the reservoir walls at great personal risk. People are desperate for information, for the freedom to return home, but nothing is in the offering.

Finally, at 1pm the Shire CEO arrives at the Town Hall and takes to the stage. He explains to the sleep-deprived crowd the council assessment of the situation and the extensive works that have been completed to keep the town safe. A cheer breaks like a wave across the audience, as though Johnny Cash has just stepped out on stage and starts with a husky rendition of Folsom Prison. The weary and drab prisoners see the first glimmers of escape, the possibility of the warmth of their lounge heater, piping hot latte from the new coffee machine in the kitchen and finally the chance to luxuriate in their queen-sized bed with the deluxe doona and memory foam pillows.

Well, if they freed me from this prison

If that railroad train was mine

I bet I'd move it on, a little

Farther down the line

Far from Folsom Prison

That's where I want to stay

And I'd let that lonesome whistle

Blow my blues away

Sleep well, exhausted evacuees, volunteers and emergency services…until the next time!