Prompt and Circumstance

Another Man's Treasure - The Last Laugh

'Lakebed' (July 29-31, 2016)

"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan, "If this rain doesn't stop."

And ruined indeed were many when a deluge of rain fell within hours over a sweeping plains area that had endured 40 years of serious neglect of drainage channels. All the old farmers agreed, it was the flood that should never have happened as they bitterly blamed the so-called 'Drainage Board' who were supposed to keep the drains cleaned out annually.

The old-timers weren't the ones who'd been using the drains as a dump for all manner of rubbish and stock bodies... no way! The oldies remembered only too well how the plains had flooded, year after year, before the huge network of drains took all the rainwater to the sea.

When the damaging floods slowly subsided, most of the farmers counted their losses and many believed they faced total ruin. Most, that is, except Chub - so nicknamed for the width and depth of his stomach girth, hanging heavily over the leather belt valiantly holding up his worn denims. Chub was the farmer whose property was far downstream, a short distance before the outlet to the sea.

Many thought he would be one of the most damaged and despairing - a natural depression in his land had caused a lake to form and grow and grow, until it nearly lapped at the concrete of his verandah. So high was the level, the local SES had made a chalk-mark about halfway across the concrete and told Chub to contact them immediately the waters came near. Then they would return immediately to sandbag and hopefully protect his house and contents. Thankfully, their services were not needed. The flood had peaked.

Instead, as the waters receded, Chub's spirits lifted higher and higher as he counted his blessings.

Huh?

Well, he was sincerely grateful to his neighbours upstream and the disastrous run-off from their farms contributing so much to his impoverished land.

Thanks to them, all over his land and particularly in his lakebed, he had -

- heaps of fertiliser - comprising blood and bone from all the drowned stock, plus countless bags of commercial superphosphate that had split and spilt their contents into the relentless suction of the floods,

- a tremendous replenishment of iron - thanks to all the now rusted bits and pieces of tools and machinery that had been dumped in the drains for years,

- a healthy injection of copper in the form of copper piping and wire, likewise from another's unhappy loss or 'throw-away' mentality,

- lots of luscious top soil washed away from other farms and landing most fortuitously in Chub's 'lake'

- a wondrous assortment of seeds that were already starting to pop through as his 'lake' shrunk - clover, lucerne, rye grass, wheat, beans and barley, just to mention a few.

Chub's eternal prayer had been answered... a bumper hay crop was assured. He surely had 'lucked out' at last.

He smiled as he remembered a truism his old Ma had used constantly -

'There's money in mud, boy... don't you forget it. There's MONEY in MUD!'