Precisely 22 years have passed since that day. I entered dates on the Internet and it calculated 8035 days since my dad, Bob aged 45 and my older brother Grant, aged 25 entered the rushing brown water in the channel at Rushworth and took their last desperate breaths, as my cousin and I looked frantically, powerlessly on. It was a day very much like today, hot and dry in that country Victorian way. It was mid afternoon on a Saturday, which stretched benignly before us like yours might have today. The four of us, along with Rex the dog jumped into Dad’s yellow ute and drove out the rusted farm gate, down the dirt road to our respective fates. I am reading The Poisonwood…