I had been working at the word processor in my new studio, on the rear corner of the house. Through one window, when I wanted a brief break as I sought out a word in my mind, I could watch myriad varieties of birds in the trees. Through the other, there was a choice of cloud formations or cattle, on which to ponder.
And just occasionally, on days like today, when the clouds rolled in from the south, there was the soothing sound of rain in the background. Did I say soothing? I had become aware of a loud splashing noise, like water spilling from a broken piece of guttering. But I knew the gutters were in good shape. So what was the source of this noise?
To answer this, I must firstly give you a brief climatology lesson and also take you a little way back in time.
People living in wetter parts of the world, like England or North America, probably have little or no understanding of our proprietorial attitudes towards water. If you are one of those, you will just have to accept what follows.
Australia is the driest continent on Earth. With few mountains causing air masses to rise and form into clouds, rain is a chance occurrence. And with the el Nino pattern in full swing over the Pacific there’d been even less moist air arriving over our dry land. So we’d experienced a prolonged drought. This in turn brought severe restrictions on the use of water.
To counter some of the problems this caused for our exotic trees and shrubs, and in the absence of rainwater storage tanks, I devised a method of harvesting the rain that fell on the roof, and directing it to the garden. Most of such rain is normally wasted, from the point of view of the individual householder, by either being directed on to the ground in places where it is neither needed nor wanted, or by being channelled into underground drains that eventually empty somewhere else.
My system changes all that.
You might call it weird, to look at. It didn’t matter; it worked. And every little bit helped, given our prolonged dry spells.
In brief, I tapped into a down-pipe (Amer. downspout), connected a 75-foot length of three-quarter inch diameter garden hose that could be laid anywhere in the yard, and, in a cunning C-shaped diversion around that connection, partially blocked off the down-pipe.
But wait, there’s more.
To make allowance for leaves flushed off the roof, that would otherwise block the hose junction, I made a sump, or pan, in the space created by the C and beneath the junction. The leaves would fall into this sump, which from time to time could be emptied simply by unscrewing a 4-inch cover plate, attached horizontally to the side of the sump.
The first time I cleaned out this sump, it never occurred to me there might be water held back behind the 'logjam' of leaves. So I had merrily unscrewed the cover plate and the leaves spewed out, followed by maybe 2 gallons of water hitting me fair in the chest with the speed of an express train.
Okay, now we’re up to date.
Where were we? Oh, yes, the loud splashing noise. From my window, I could see the gutter was overflowing. I could also see the end of the hosepipe and observed there was only a trickle coming out. Apparently my jerry-built irrigation system was blocked. It seemed I needed to empty the leaves again.
You’ll recall I said Australia is the driest continent. Well, the present weather pattern gives the lie to that. And with the rain forecast to continue non-stop until Christmas Eve, I decided immediate attention to the problem was indicated. Fortunately the downpour eased off slightly as I sallied forth.
I remembered my past drenching from the backed-up water...
I unscrewed the sump cover plate, s-l-o-w-l-y.
Water oozed out around the edge. Eventually it eased to a trickle. I pulled the cover away. Leaves, from arsehole to breakfast-time. I began hooking them out with a stick . . . . .
F*****CK.
The densely packed leaves had been holding back even more water. A four inch wide column, stretching all the way back up the down-pipe to the gutter. Twenty two feet long, in total.
That was why the gutter had been overflowing. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
It worked out to 12 gallons of f*cking rainwater.
And it all hit me fair in the f*cking chest again.
My Country ~ Dorothea Mackellar, 1904
“I love a sunburnt country, a land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges, of droughts and flooding rains”
I hate Australia.




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