When a raging storm brings a tree crashing down and turns a happy home into a mud-bath, you quickly learn the value of sticking together
The annoying thing about adversity is that it’s most often unexpected. It lands in your life like a crashed satellite, hurtling out of space and time and spraying debris wherever you look.
It was during one of those times of that my now-fiancé said something to me that I’ve clung to for a very long time. I jotted it down on a Post-it note and stuck it to the pin board above my desk. It says:
“I cannot control my circumstances, but I can control how I react to them.”
This little phrase would come right back to life on a strange July evening.
We chose to live in our home for a number of reasons: the space, location, view and most importantly, the garden. It was perfect for the dogs we planned to adopt and for summer evenings spent over lazy dinners.
When we moved in, we regaled each other with planned tales and escapades. We’re almost at the two-year mark here now, but it was a scary rainstorm that cemented our life here.
Any Durbanite will tell you that the 26th of July 2016 was a horrible day. A frightening storm – one that saw a woman go missing and presumed dead – blasted our city with rain that flooded roads, upended houses and, for us, saw a landslide take place in our back garden.
This is my house. More rain on its way. pic.twitter.com/w7BV73A807
— Cath (@cathjenkin) July 26, 2016
I’d been pacing the house as we tried to find a way to get my daughter home, despite our road being blocked with mud and water. We watched cars try to navigate through it, get stuck or turn back.
But thanks to friends and useful resources, she was safely brought home a little later than expected (bed time doesn’t matter when your mother has spent half the day wishing you safely home).
Unfortunately, as I paced the passageway, a large tree, set in rich, soft, soil, came crashing down into our yard, turning it into something of a swamp. We had a calamity on our hands.
Our dogs, naturally desperate to explore and play, were shut up inside the house for two weeks. I could hang nothing out to dry. Controlling my reactions to these circumstances proved difficult. Attempting to run my business while less-than-interested workmen made a half-effort to clear the mess, coupled with our crazed dogs and the worry that more mud could end up ruining the yard, drove me almost towards apoplexy.
As we pondered our next steps towards resolving the issue of “The Mud”, something snapped into place between us. We’d sort it out ourselves.
With the approval of our incredible landlord, we hired someone to help with the labour and, over a weekend, the back yard was cleared. The image of the man I’ll marry, in wellington boots and knee-deep in mud, has cemented my path towards him down the aisle.
Considering that he’d probably make a great candidate for a Worst Handyman show, seeing him shovel mud while I joined in from the other side of the pile, reminded me that – no matter what came our way as a family – we could get through it together.
It’s been nearly three months since that day and, while our backyard is not yet perfect, it’s livable, with our dogs roaming around and digging up everything, just as they always liked to.
Every afternoon, I look at the backyard and I’m reminded that even when the rain comes down, mud swarms the house and I feel like we’re about to be swallowed up by chaos, he is right by my side, digging towards the life we create together, in the home we chose for our family.
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