Thoughts of Murphy’s Creek

Kilometre after kilometre of fence lines with debris and brown grass clinging like dead skin to the barbed wire.

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Driving past a crumpled something. It’s not until I am beside it, I realise it is a car. Was a car. Looks like a crushed tissue. I gasp so deeply momentarily my car wobbles as my hands shake.

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Driving past homes and front gates with a sad flapping piece of police tape. In some areas it’s blue and white. Other places have the same tape, as well as orange and white. I don’t know what it means, and I love that I am protected from the horror.

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Noting wordlessly another police tape on a letterbox. A gate. We try not to look, to pry.

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The further along the road I drive, looking for a safe U-turn place, the tighter my stomach draws into a knot. I feel physically sick, and can't wait to throw the car into a tight right-hand lock and swing it towards home. Hurry!

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A sign outside the pub: IF ANYONE FINDS ANY PIECE OF CLOTHING, NO MATTER HOW SMALL, PLEASE REPORT IMMEDIATLEY. DO NOT TOUCH. DO NOT REMOVE.

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The army are everywhere at Murphy’s Creek. Row upon row of enormous tents sit in a paddock, across the road opposite the pub.  The old shop is next door, where I bought my 8 chooks from Lois, and I recall how we used to enjoy our Saturday afternoon chats across the shop counter.  The road is full of water trucks dampening down the dust and gravel; heavy machinery. 

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Traffic-control men spray their tired faces with water bottles as we drive past. They lean on the STOP SLOW signs with a determined grimness.

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The countryside so green. Such a high price to pay for the rain.
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Thank you for my strength Patty

One readers heartfelt response to my blog.  Thankyou, *deep respect*

My Dear Patty,

You have taken us all on a journey of words that is repeated across our great State of QLD, your story times 10,000.

I give thanks for your awsome ability to write so well and to take us with you through your experience, for it is our experience, you write for us all.

You will never know just how much you have given each of us who read your memoirs. Not just a story to cry over but the gut and heart of us all.

I find myself nodding in agreement or acknowledging the same feelings in places as it could be our story too.

I live in Glenore Grove in The Lockyer Valley and the destruction, cleanup and pain is palpable. We too have our angels in abundence and tomorrow I head out with a group to Helidon and Murphy's Creek and later to Granthem if they will allow us.

I must suck up my emotions for this cleanup as they have lost so much and so many of their small community. I will need strength and endurance as you have done and keep my weeping to myself in a quiet place.

I will take with me in my head your story to give me courage and keep me going emotionally and to ebb the tide of fatigue as it will surely come and I have already dug out my Simon & Garfunkle album for the drive there and my Bee Gee's for the drive home.

Thank you again for your eloquent words, your story, our story, QLD's story of the Floods of 2011.