In recent years, we've been inundated with footage of international disasters, ranging from devastating earthquakes and floods, to horrible shootings. The coverage of one disaster hardly abates before the next begins. Without even knowing it, we almost become numbed.

Even I, when I heard of the massive floods in Australia, didn't react immediately. It took a few pictures from some close friends in Victoria before the magnitude of the disaster struck home. Now, thanks to instant communication via telephones and Facebook, I am reminded of the characteristic manner in which the Aussies deal with such a disaster.

Those of you who have followed my column know how important Australia has been throughout my life. Ten years ago, I traveled Down Under through a work abroad program, I attended college in Melbourne, and even spent my honeymoon there. Likewise, lifelong friends Andrew and his wife Belinda traveled to the United States to attend my wedding, and have always been in constant contact, despite the physical distance. They typify the casual, "no worries" mentality that makes Australia such a unique place, in light of the incredible hardships presented by the land.

For example, bushfires are a constant worry. On a dry year, flames will whip up and race across the countryside with demonic, hellish fury. One farmer described a wall of fire fast approaching; he only had time to dive into the milking parlor and turn on the water. Although he survived, everything else was destroyed.

Astonishingly, the Aussies take this with a grain of salt. Some friends once remarked that during an especially dry spell, the countryside all around them was engulfed in flames. Only a change in the wind spared their property. I asked if they were scared, or if they evacuated. The reply came, "Nah, mate - we sat on the porch and watched - it was beautiful."

During any given decade, one severe flood will ravage the countryside of Victoria. Because of this threat, houses are built on stilts and basements are nonexistent.

This year, when my friends got hit, the waters came with a vengeance. First came the rain. Unfortunately, the unusually wet spring brought on swarms of locusts. Like something out of America's Dust Bowl, they ate everything in sight. Crops were destroyed, and so thick were the swarms, that Doppler radar was actually picking them up as storm systems.

Then came the flood. Six inches of rain signifies a flood in Victoria, and for the first time in 20 years, riverbeds and reservoirs filled up, and spilled over. This only lasted a short time before the waters receded. But, with a fresh dry spell, millions of locust eggs hatched. Any crops that had poked through were quickly consumed.

Then came more rain - two floods in as many months; this is unprecedented. Never before in recorded history has Victoria been so saturated. Here is where the pictures come in: There is Andrew, smiling, in water halfway to his knees. His entire front yard is a lake, and water laps at the axles of his truck. So flat is the terrain, that there is no reprieve. The only dry area is in the house, built on stilts. Those of you who are squeamish will love this next part.

Humans are not the only creatures interested in getting out of the omnipresent liquid. From Andrew's Facebook page comes this update, titled "Things to do when your house is isolated in Floodwaters." First, mousetraps on the deck, trailing cheese and crackers. Subsequent posts indicate that bacon, peanut butter, and extra cheese all work well (by the way, when Aussies write on Facebook they shorten "mate" to "m8" - I love it).

Andrew's next post under "Things to do" says, "Watching out for a brown snake when bending over to turn the gas bottle off after cooking some snags for tea." Allow me to translate: Andrew just grilled some sausages for lunch. He bends over to turn off the propane to the grill, only to see a brown snake, the second (repeat, second) most poisonous snake in the world. He describes his reaction as "surprised." A subsequent post indicates that brown snakes are good for eradicating mice. God, I love the Aussies.

Of course, the realities of this flood are far from humorous or light-hearted. Andrew also describes herds of cattle unable to get out of the muck. His heifer pasture has one tiny island in the middle, formed from organic matter after years and years of feeding round bales. The small undulation is packed with cattle; there is simply nowhere else for them to go.

Feed supplies for the year have been destroyed; even round bales are "nothing but mulch." I was told that once the water hits a round bale, it instantly becomes a swarming, writhing mass of worms, also desperate to escape the flood.

During a recent phone conversation, Andrew casually, but passionately told me about their plight. I listened in shocked silence - life in Wisconsin is pretty darn tame by comparison. I even remarked: Between fires, floods, locusts, and poisonous snakes, aren't those like four of the signs from the Bible?

Then, in a classic illustration of Australian resilience, Andrew laughed, "Yeah, but at least we're not bloody cold."

- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a weekly column for the Times. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.