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Photography by Elowen Amos
Stone by stone, vine by vine, my Dad and Pa had pulled thousands of acres of fruit from the red dirt scrub. But it was all completed by the time I was born. Established as its own little universe. Our house was bordered by grapevines, and beyond those oranges, mandarins, watermelons, and countless others. It and the drought were all I knew. They existed side by side, waging a battle I didn’t realise we could lose.
The town of Huxley, its people were proud to say, was one of the few tourist destinations popular for its lack of hospitality. The beach was a mass of seaweed and rocks strewn across gritty sand. Its days were made sluggish and oppressive through heat, the nights sharpened by frigid ocean winds.