Cracks grew deep in the barren, parched soil; baked hard like a wrinkled old face. Hot and dusty – the sort of dust that got in your bones. No rain, no clouds, just the blazing hot, unforgiving sun. We have owned, lived and loved on this property for four years. Four dry, hard years that neither man nor beast could enjoy. We pray for rain. When will our prayers be answered? I stand outside our homestead gazing across a barren horizon. I feel a hot breeze on my cheeks and I taste the dust in my mouth. I see a dust devil – some call them whirly-whirly’s – rise up and start to spin its pocket of hot air. As I peer across the olive plantation, the smouldering heat begins to play tricks with my eyes. The trees look blurry as nature’s fever glistens upon the air. Drought conditions are…