I woke this morning to find the weather 
By this afternoon,Encased within an old demountable building,
I yelled at my students all day.
I had to.
The constant rain beating down on us forced me to.
The noise never let up…
The rain fell in a constant white wall.
The windows fogged, but not before we noticed the school drains throwing water up into the air. By the afternoon, the playground fields were a lake and the back paddock flooded. We couldn’t leave our building without stepping in rivers of water.
By lunchtime, the first of the parents arrived. Soon enough, there was a steady stream of them at the door.
The kids realized that today was not an average day and their excitement levels slowly rose. Half an hour before the bell was due to ring, the kids were all taken to the hall. A movie was put on. Early arriving parents were forced to sign their children out – with more rigid strictness than normal. While some parents were angry, they should be thankful as each and every child at the school could be accounted for…
Our principal told the bus driver that children would not be on the bus today. I can imagine some more angry parents, as they were forced to get their children from the school…. But… we knew that each of our children were safe. Staff that lived locally were stationed in the hall, well after the bell… watching and waiting. Others of us were debriefed in the staffroom. While the principal, a father of four, was ready to bunker down and wait in the hall with other teachers and remaining students, the rest of us went home… We left with the principal’s words ringing in our ears… Drive safely. Get home safely.
Leaving the school, I noticed cars pulled up on the side of the road. People were looking at the flood water. The parks and walkways were hidden under a sudden lake.
The roads were almost empty – eerily empty. Flood water covered most flat surfaces. Only once did I feel water grip my tyres and threaten to take my car. A car and truck, not so lucky, had crashed together, and reminded me to be careful.
My own street had been covered in water. Had I been an hour earlier, I would not have made it home. The debris from the sudden flooding of the storm water drain lay across the road. Water still gushed along the drain. A man, clad in a wet raincoat, was sweeping the road free of sand and rubbish.
Pulling into my wet and flooded garage…
I felt good.
My car had survived the trip home.
While the outside of my house was wet and boggy,
the inside was warm and dry.
As the rain continues to beat down, with no sign of clearing…
I can’t help but wonder about others.
A man lost his life from these rains today.
Sirens frequently fly across the sky.
Roads were closed and cars actually drifted off in the flood waters.
Roads were closed because of flooding.
Roads were closed because of rock slides…
And a tree blocked another road.
Some schools are expecting to hold children
until after five o’clock.
Reports differ, but it seems that three times the monthly average rainfall fell in an eight hour period.
That’s a lot of rain.
And tonight, they’re expecting a high tide.
If the weather is like this tomorrow, I’ll be checking the radio. If roads are closed, we’re to report to our closest school.
From the inside, I can absolutely say that children in primary schools are kept safe – even when natural disaster zones are declared in the area.
The sound of helicopter blades has gone.
The media has pulled out of Brisbane’s flood zone.
As the water pulled away from the homes,
thick brown flood mud was exposed.
The stinking flood mud - which would
take a huge effort to clean.
... And then, they came.
The army of volunteers.
People carrying buckets and mops,
wearing boots, old clothes and gloves.
This is the true story of the floods.
When the waters pulled back and the home owners started the daunting clean-up, strangers arrived and helped.
People whose lives were scattered around them, broken and muddy, wiped back tears of gratitude and hope as strangers appeared.
These devastated people were able to stand tall and face the hard work because people were standing beside them.
Volunteers were turning up in incredible numbers.
Four assembly points were set up to coordinate them.
Lines of volunteers (over a kilometre long), formed as people waited to be assigned to different areas.
Buses were organised to transport these volunteers.
Today, about 12,500 people joined in on the huge clean-up. (In Brisbane. There’s no such information on the other flood areas, though I am sure they are working just as hard to clean everything.)
While the flood stories no longer fill the news, people are still being evacuated from their Victorian homes. People are still waiting for rivers to peak and the cleanup to begin... but the media is moving on.
Something Australians can depend on...
when the media has gone
and the politicians have left...
their fellow Aussies will step up.
My respect goes to those who are helping their friends... helping their neighbours... helping strangers.
They’re the real story.
North East Australia is in flood.
And the media is flooded with the news.
It’s on every television station.
It’s on the radio. It’s on the Internet.
The amount of flooding is said to be an area
the size of Germany and France combined.
People are waking this morning, after sleeping on the floor. The scenes are not dissimilar to those in refugee camps. (The hearts of Australians break as they watch the news, but no one recognises the same need in foreign refugees.) The refugees will eat whatever food they are given. Water is becoming scarce. E coli has been found in the water of one Queensland town. Mosquitoes are predicted to cause havoc, spreading disease wherever they land. People have lost their homes... their furniture... their cars... their treasured possessions.
Some have lost their pets. Some have lost their families.
And still, they show it on the news.
They show the same footage again and again.
And again.
I think, though, that the thing which most irritates me, is their interviews. The media are interviewing people suffering terrible losses. Brave Aussie men struggle through tight throats and teary eyes to keep from crying. All around them, their lives float in the brown sludge of flood water and the media expects them to share their story. Even worse, the camera zooms in at the slightest sign of a watery eye.
I wonder at the money the media has spent. Hours of time have been spent in helicopters. Helicopters don’t come cheap! Every network has camera people, behind the scenes people, news people.
I’d like to see each of the networks donating the same amount of money spent on broadcasting the floods, to the cleanup.
There’s no doubting that the floods have caused unimaginable damage throughout the state. There’s looting, with people taking advantage of other’s misfortune. Electricity has been cut in Brisbane. Shops are closed. Industrial areas are under flood.
Food prices in Australia are set to soar after crops and grazing lands have been lost.
Queensland (Qld) boosts our economy – well, it did. Qld generates more than half of Australia’s coal exports... but at least 40 coal mines have closed because of the flooding. The floods caused world coal prices to hit a two-year high this week.
Queensland is responsible for almost half of our meat exports and a quarter of our food exports. It’s also a major exporter of sugar, cotton and wheat... until the floods washed the crops away.
Tourism dollars will be lost, in the busiest tourist time of the year.
I wonder about the animals... the echidnas, the blue-tongue lizards and kangaroos. Did they get out?
There are so many stories that aren’t told.
My home town also flooded. The river floods annually. The area is so used to flooding that floods come and go without fuss. The area didn’t receive media attention – the flood didn’t cause enough damage. One media report suggested that the locals in my home area are bred tough. I don’t think so. They are, instead, experienced. The people are too prepared for floods. Here’s classic proof: A local pub fills with flood water during each flood. Locals still make it in for a drink, they just pull up in their boats!
As the people go back home and the massive clean-up begins, my thoughts go to the people. I hope they have a chance to cry without a camera in their face. I hope they can seek help and discuss the horrors of what they saw and heard and experienced. I hope they can clean the stinking mud and filthy water from their homes, furniture and belongings. I hope they can start over.
I hope time heals the loss of loved-ones.
http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2011/01/05/3106548.htm
http://www.smh.com.au/business/counting-the-cost-of-the-floods-20110112-19nqq.html
In a huge tantrum, it beat its fists at my roof and lashed out at the walls. Its shrieking winds whipped through my plants and the sky darkened with its angry mood.
Thunder ripped across the sky and
lightning lashed down and around me.
It got me to thinking about lightning.
There was an excuse a younger me often used: “I can’t wash up! There’s a storm and I might get hit by lightning!” I don’t think I ever really believed it, but the slight amount of doubt was enough to let me get out of the job for a while longer.
And, then... it happened!
A man did get hit by lightning,
through his kitchen window,
while he was washing up!
I may never wash up in a storm again!
It was in the Blue Mountains. It was this year! (He was taken to hospital and I believe he is fine now.)
It seems that men are more likely to be hit by lightning than females. I guess that has something to do with females grabbing the washing and the kids and ducking inside before the storm hits. The men on the other hand, they have to finish that round of golf... or catch one more fish before the storm hits. This crazy bravery makes them four times more likely than females to be struck down.
("Demographics of U.S. Lightning Casualties and Damages from 1959 - 1994," by Ronald L. Holle and Raúl E. López of the National Severe Storms Laboratory and E. Brian Curran of the National Weather Service.)
Interestingly, the number of people being hit by lightning has decreased in my lifetime. It seems that we have better weather forecasts and are more likely to have early warning about the storms that bring the lightning. (That means that those golf club swinging men are really asking to be struck down!)
While I’ve always has a relatively high respect for lightning, I was never really afraid of being hit by a sudden bolt from the sky. I have more awareness now... and may tremble a little more during the next storm. Only flash floods and river floods cause more weather deaths than lightning strikes!
But then... if I am hit, I’d be unlucky to be among the 20% of people who die instantly... although... being hit can bring on a whole range of side effects, which may not be apparent immediately. Most lightning strikes leave deep burns where the lightning enters and leaves your body. This is usually on the head, neck and shoulders.
While I don’t know what a kilovolt is, it’s an impressive sounding word. I do know that electricians have to be careful – electric shock risks and all. So think this - most industrial electric shocks are 20 to 63 kilovolts, while a lightning strike delivers about 300 kilovolts. Nasty!
Look at these burns. 
Now I’m starting to think I need to be more careful when it comes to lightning. Maybe, I shouldn’t have sat outside and watched the storm this afternoon?
Apparently, there are more than 25 million
lightning strikes in the world every year.
So, I started to wonder...
what are the risks of being hit then?
One in 700 000.
Big number – doesn’t really mean much.
Perspective...
My town has about 22 000 people.
Consider my town being more than 30 times bigger...
I have one chance in all of those people of being struck by lightning (unless I’m a bloke on the golf course, swinging my golf club in a storm!)
I’m safe.
http://science.nasa.gov/science-news/science-at-nasa/1999/essd18jun99_1/
