We were up at 4am two Friday nights ago - sweeping water out of the Workshop. Then again last Friday. This time, though, it was more than the average flooding; brown rainwater came in from both ends of the property. The creek at the bottom of our garden had risen so high, there was exactly three inches between the water level and the Workshop's concrete floor. The Machinist's brand new 'thousands of dollars' new machinery sat 10 metres away from facing the dreaded 'wet feet'.
The Machinist, the girls and I had spent the afternoon packing hundreds of sandbags in preparation of what was looming in the late afternoon sky. We were still filling, lifting, carting and dragging the heavy, (already)wet sacks when the storm began.
Equipped with several pumps, we attempted to suck the water away from the Workshop and pump it back into the creek. We'd made calls to the State Emergency Services, as well as our local Fire Brigade, to no avail.
"It's not just a back-yard shed," I pleaded "It's our bread and butter..."
I was so proud of my family that night. Our girls were real troopers, lugging sand bags on their shoulders, placing them around the perimeter of our property, through the trees, orchard, chicken coop and barn, bitten by bugs, treading on slugs (and having slugs stuck on their skin....yeowww).
You never know what you can do until you have to do it...
**On a sad note - we haven't seen Rognon since the storms. We can only presume she and her kittens were marooned someplace along the creek**