When we first saw our house, and Jamie suggested it had potential, I cried. I did not want to move inland, away from the ocean I loved. It was the end of summer and the land was parched. Here was our future home, plonked unceremoniously in a bare block of land, with five small trees lining the driveway.

The real estate sign showed a beautiful lily pond with the declaration 'Your Own Piece of Paradise'. When I questioned the position of the dam across the fence, the real estate agent smiled wryly and said that yes, that was probably a bit of a stretch. Clearly, there wasn't much else to sell it. Yet fifteen years later, here we are, facing another Big Dry.

I grew up in a time of extended drought. In the early '80s, the result of lack of rainfall brought dust storms and severe bushfires with many deaths. I was 11 and remember the burning gum leaves falling, and days upon days of heat where we all scrambled to the sea for relief. Just before I moved to England in 2003, we'd had years of dry weather, resulting in water restrictions. Showers had to be less than four minutes, you weren't allowed to wash your car or water your garden, and people would spy on you if you did. People would put signs out the front to say they were watering with grey water to signify they weren't 'wallys' or avoid criminal investigation. In many ways it was traumatising. I recall seeing huge fat raindrops in England and thinking they were nothing short of miraculous because I so rarely saw rain like that.

In 2010 and 2011, the arrival of El Nina saw the rain return. It was timely for the gum trees we planted, whose roots sort the wet clay twelve metres down. Once their roots are down, we say, they're more likely to survive. The more trees planted, the more shade. I owe the tall trees on our property to El Nina's rains.

The thing is, if you've been raised in drought, there's always that haunting knowledge that it is coming again. We are lucky enough to be on town water, but we suspect there will be restrictions soon enough as the reservoirs shrink. We fill bird baths constantly for the birds that come in desperate for a drink in the blinding heat of summer. We think about whether we can afford a grey water system, or make our own. I dread the return of the days where we let our shower water run into buckets and lug them to the garden to keep it alive.

Rain is not an inconvenience in my part of the world. Up north, they have terrible floods, but we don't live in the tropics. Every time it rains, we are grateful here.

There's not much we can do about the weather patterns and climate change. All we can do is constantly assess our systems - mulching, rain water collection, swales, shade, soil nutrients, wicking beds - and pray to the gods and goddess of the water, who may or not bless us with their presence.

This piece was in response to the #creativegarden prompt this week, with the theme 'Water'. You can choose creative non fiction (like this piece) or a wild science fiction, a time travelling adventure, a poem or anything else creative! They come out every Sunday, so do join the fun!