A perfect winter's day in the sub-tropics. Unimaginably perfect. Sun shining in a clear blue sky and warm enough not to need a jumper. I head off from home for a walk through the inner suburbs. I'm looking for the remains of an urban creek, much neglected but being rejuvenated by a local community group. Kingfisher Creek.
I pass through an old suburb. Wooden houses on stilts; some dilapidated, others renovated. I feel drawn to the rundown ones. They don't have designer gardens and perfect paintwork. Fences are falling down, pumpkin vines are sprawling, and there's a feeling of the "Little Rascals" or "Huckleberry Finn" in the air. The kind of place I grew up in.
I stop to photograph a neglected corner of a yard. Don't really know why. Just something about bits of junk overgrown with weeds. The owner pulls up in his car and waits for me to take the photo before backing in. We start chatting.
He tells me: "That red car there, it's been under water three times." I ask: "In 2011?" That's when we had our last flood. "No," he says, "three times this year!" Well, we didn't even have a particularly wet year, so it sounds like his property is flooded about every time it rains heavy. That's what I call a flood-prone street. I am about to ask him why he didn't move to higher ground, but change my mind. None of my business.
I nod goodbye and continue on to find Kingfisher Creek, the cause of all his woes.
On Location Monday: A flooded street