Under the weather

Since the 1970s, airconditioning in cars, homes and the buildings in which we shop and work has meant we’re exposed to the elements for just minutes at a time on most days. For many, the weather is a TV weatherperson’s breathless description of a mini-tornado in Oodnagalarbie East or hail-damaged flowerbeds in Pavlova Circle.

We watch as HOSE FROZEN of Angora Heights (formerly Billygoat Hill) demands the authorities do something about his garden tap, rendered inoperative by the lowest temperature in 80 years, and ends his complaint with a derisive remark about global warming. But those same TV “personalities” and their melodramatic presentations have probably made city dwellers more aware of the weather than at any time in the past 40 years – even if that mini-tornado was in fact a willy-willy lifting skirts and raising dust in the supermarket carpark.

To the fishermen, farmers and others who depend on it for their livelihood, the weather is a living thing. It’s seen in the 10-metre rogue wave looming over your boat in the vastness of the Southern Ocean, or in the searing wind that rattles the stalks of a failing crop; and in the staggering, rheumy eyed, dust-stained ewes, weakened by a year or more of drought. To these enduring folk, the weather means poor or plenty, a smaller overdraft or another season of make-do.

The weather can also be a life-changing experience – like the Tasmanian thunderstorm that struck me almost dumb, and nearly made me get religion. It was the mid-60s and there were six of us crammed with our instruments and the Speech Therapist from Sassafras into a tiny Standard, on our way to play a gig in the north of the island.

The little car struggled up St Peter’s Pass into the maw of a fierce thunderstorm and as we reached the summit I stuck my head out of a window , yelling: “Send ’er down Hughie, you old bastard!”  Whack! Lightning struck a road sign just ahead of us, setting its post afire and briefly cutting our motor. There wasn’t a word said for an hour, and from that day I’ve never again yelled at Hughie during a thunderstorm

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