THE LONG DRY

In the heart of South Australia's Mid North, Burra is weathering one of its worst droughts. But beyond the cracked paddocks, this close-knit community is surviving, strengthened by history and hope.

- JESSICA HOWARD

On a freezing morning beneath Mount Razorback, north of Burra, a mob of sheep is bobbing behind John Quinn’s ute like they’re attached with bits of string.

He hasn’t dropped a grain of barley yet, but the rumble of his engine is enough to draw them in.

“We do this every second day at the moment,” he says, snaking across the dirt with daughters Belle and Lucy beside him, their cheeks rosy in the cold. “These ewes are looking pretty reasonable, considering they’ve just had lambs, and no grass for so long.”

His wife, Jodie, drops in on her way to run Burra’s newsagency and gift shop. “We're like ships in the night,” she says, “but for us right now, it’s all about preserving the family unit.” Between farm work, town work and parenting four kids, togetherness has to be snatched.

The Quinns’ merino and cropping farm has been in the family for four generations, but not since the rabbits chewed out everything in '53 has it been this desolate. Last year’s crop failed entirely - a financial gut punch.

“I had the biggest meltdown,” Jodie says. “Two years of dry - no subsoil moisture. We’re relying on every rainfall to keep this alive.”

South Australia is in the grip of what locals say is its worst drought on record. The once-green hills of the Mid North now lay bare. When The Weekly visits, the district is reeling from an apocalyptic dust storm.

“It was crazy,” says Emily Riggs, who was working from the family farm, on her fashion label Iris & Wool, when she looked out the window and saw the sky turn orange. “It was a wall of dust and you couldn’t see right in front of you.”

Wind is no stranger here and turbines line the valley, but this was different. Emily dashed outside in disbelief, daughter Lucy trailing behind, as topsoil from their paddocks and everyone else's swirled around them.