survival kits

PYA - Prepare Yourself Australia


Survival Kits - Links
Great Australian Sites
www.survival.org.au

www.aussurvivalist.com

www.camping.com.au

www.bushfirefront.com.au

Australian maps and travel resources

www.4wdtasmania.org

survival links

As I am Manly Ward, Brisbane Australia Stake's Ward welfare Specialists, survival teachings, gear and links are very much part of my agenda, so here is one:

What happens when the rain comes

A walk along the slippery Dairy Creek-Mount Augustus track to where the Geeranoo Creek crossed it
Ainslee Steadman organises a fresh water supply

It was in the Gascoyne area just east of the the little hamlet Gascoyne Junction. A sheep and cattle Station Dairy Creek was on my agenda for study during my 1996 field trip. Two days after I arrived at the station, the owners Ainslee and Trish Steadman, loaded their utility and truck and set forth for the Gascoyne Junstion Picnic Races, a great event for everyone for many miles around. They left Friday evening, leaving me to feed the dog, pet baby magpie, the fat cat, start the lighting plant to run the lectricity for lights, fridge and freezer and generally be prepared for when the Aboriginal staff turned up requiring food. On Saturday I wandered around the station homestead complex, and accompanied by their dog Kori, which is Aboriginal for girl, wandered off across the wide Geeranoo Creek to the shearers quarters and shed. The sky was overcast, and as my wanderings progressed around the shearers quartes, the clouds progressed also and thickened and darkened. By the time I made my way back to the homestead, a light rain was falling. By evening when I went to start the lighting plant, the rain was falling heavily, which boded ill for the race meetings. Next day a very wet world greeted me, and the Geeranoo Creek, which ran behind the homestead, was running a banker. The creek washed out the piping from the well to the homestead complex that was the necessary water supply. Ainslee and Trish arrived home after slithering their way along the notorious Gascoyne-Landor Road, now a muddy quagmire, followed by a young couple in a van, who were stranded because the four roads leading out of Gascoyne Junction were closed. Within two days the homestead tank was empty of water and we were on rations from two jerry cans. The rain had stopped by now. The following day, three days after the floods, Ainslee was able to get out and get an engine from one of his outcamps. This he proceeded to set up, with the necessary poly piping, to pump water from the lowered creek to the homestead tank. Trish, her sister Jill, myself and the young lass Linda did the biggest wash you ever saw. The rotary clothes line was full, all bushes had articles draped over them, the veranda with its railings around the buildings were covered with articles. Gascoyne bore water is a dreadful brew and very hard and salty. What Ainslee had pumped up was lovely, soft clear water.

A good read

href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1574546.Faith_Rewarded_A_Personal_Account_of_Prophetic_Promises_to_the_East_German_Saints" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"> http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1574546.Faith_Rewarded_A_Personal_Account_of_Prophetic_Promises_to_the_East_German_Saints">Faith Rewarded: A Personal Account of Prophetic Promises to the East German Saints by http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/411899.Thomas_S_Monson">Thomas S. Monson

My rating: http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/105828486">5 of 5 starsA tremendous story about the German Saints behind the Berlin Wall and how Thomas S. Monson, an Elder, risked his life regularly to cross check point charlie to visit with them, encourage them, and teach what he could of the Lord's message. The faith of the Saints behind the iron wall was tremendous and inspirational to read about and something I use sometimes in my own life to remind me when things get tough. These Saints were rewarded by the building of the Freiburg Germany Temple and not long after the wall came down. Today this magnicient man has been called to serve as our Propeht, Seer and Revelator in the Church's First Presidency
http://www.goodreads.com/review/list/3793535-colleen-o-grady">View all my reviews >>

Are You Irish Or Normal | bookfavourites.com.au

Are You Irish Or Normal bookfavourites.com.au

Dance of the Matai

Dad wrote the Dance of the Matai in 1957 after witnessing two venerable and grand old gentlemen, heads of their people in their respective ways, bare foot and wearing their lavalavas, meeting when out one day, and the courtesy they extended to each other in the Samoan way. He sent it to John, who considered it his favourite poem. I must say I love it also.

DANCE OF THE MATAI
The dignified Matai, with his solemn stately tread,
Walks in lonely wisdom, and his head
Remains unturned
To the chattering children passing by.
A group of laughing girls is divided, and it flows,
Rippling in the sun warm breeze that blows
Sea fresh and clean;
And the girls are silent as they meet his eye.
Dark blue lavalava, silver hair,
Big brown body, and brown feet bare,
Pride in his bearing, pride in his face,
Proud of his lineage and proud of his race,
The Matai goes by.

He meets another gentleman in similar array,
Wise and proud and stately, on his way
To visit friends;
And as men of equal rank and equal birth,
They pause to greet each other, their voices deep and low,
Gentle as their handshake, soft and slow
And full of grace;
Then something stated moves them both to mirth.
High pitched yodelling, falsetto high;
High pitched giggle and hard slapped thigh;
Dignity surrenders, as dignity must'
When big brown children dance in the dust,
'O le siva A Matai

(John Patrick O'Grady 1957)

It is a truly remarkable and descriptive poem, that one could almost visually feel and see these two powerful men greeting one another and sharing a joke. Dad was certainly a very gifted man.

My Friend Willy

My friend Willy is a lovable chap,
He has a warble full of glee.
He sits on the chopping block out the back
Eating pieces of meat for tea.

His tail will dart back and forth,
As he gives his cheeky whistle.
Like his family down south to way up north,
He cheerfully sings his epistle.

Teasing the dog by riding on its back,
He manages to pass the day,
Or dive-bombing the cat to make him scat,
He chases him far away!

Cheeky Willy sits on the clothesline,
Enjoying a ride in the sun.
Warbling to me his song so fine,
You see - he thinks I'm his Mum!

This poem was published in May's Creatrix 9, an online journal of WA Poets Inc