by Annette Radford

Created on: June 04, 2008

The thirsty earth is crying as the gaping mouths of its parched surface open wider begging for just one small drop of precious liquid. The dams are dry, their caked surfaces offering no relief from the baking heat. The cattle stand around, listlessly waiting for the truck that will bring the next load of hay. The newly shorn sheep are dying in the harsh conditions. And still the sky is a relentless blue, offering no hint of clouds that might bring a promise of long awaited rain.

The drought has lasted for seven years now. This year no one has bothered to put in crop of winter wheat, because there has not even been a promise of winter rains. The oldest farmers have never seen it so dry and this is an area that is classed as semi-desert. There are thunderstorms, like politicians and used car salesmen, noisy and full of promise but yielding no real benefit. What little rain does fall soaks into the thirsty soil, leaving no runoff to fill dams and creeks. The largest water storage in the district is only at ten percent of its capacity. If rain does not fall soon it will be empty and even the towns will have no water for basic needs.

The people have all the resilience of country folk everywhere. Used to being self reliant, some have thought of ingenious ways to make the most of what is available. Waste from the houses keeps a small vegetable patch going, and plants that need a ready water supply have been replaced by hardier species. Hard times have brought the community closer together as everyone shares what they have available. Their prayers for rain have not been answered.

People think longingly of the last big flood, fifty years before. They forget the devastation it caused; remembering fondly the days when dams were full to overflowing and the spreading waters deposited a load of fertile silt on the plains which are now so hard and dry. The year following the flood yielded the best crops in history and the town bustled with a fresh prosperity. The drought has drained the town and the people dry, as more young families leave because there is no work. Those who stay are increasingly dependent on government benefits, trapped like stranded animals in a sea of lost opportunities.

Those remaining dream of rain, soaking, life-giving rain, falling steadily for days at a time. Rain guages overflowing and gutters and drains singing happily, contentedly satiated. The flood warning signs stand lopsided at the roadsides like penniless drunks waiting for a bar to open, yet knowing it will not do them any good. Strangers passing laugh at the flood warning signs standing like lost souls in the parched landscape.

I only wish that this sad account was fiction, but unfortunately it is a true account of what is happening in much of rural Australia right now. This area used to be the bread basket of New South Wales, a thriving rural community, but this has gone with our last hopes for rain. It will take several years of good rains to restore what the drought has taken from the land, but much longer to restore human spirits.

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