Farmers look up the weather charts or rely on the weather forecaster to give them hope. But the ordinary farmer is left no hope when the predicted rain does not arrive.
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David Kendall Strelitz, nearly 80, owns and manages 6500 acres surrounding Uralla. His two sons also farm these properties; Mr Strelitz believes 'farming is in the blood', but this prolonged drought has been difficult.
This drought has become "a rod for his back", he said. He has been through a few droughts; he began farming out west in 1962, as a labourer for a large property owner, during a drought that continued until 1965.
But this drought is longer than the others. And hope is harder to find.
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Early morning television is the first port of call to watch the weather forecast, before the farmers go out in the paddocks.
Forecast rain not arriving is unbearable, Mr Strelitz said - a form of torture "brought on by uncertainty".
"If I knew it was going to rain in six weeks, then I could give it a go," he said, "but at the moment, it just eats my guts out. I think they should be able to forecast when it's going to happen.
"No-one else talks about the weather forecast. We think there is no end, then the weather bureau will predict rain in four days. We feel hope, and what that does to us is gut wrenching.
"The sad thing about this drought, like any drought, is you don't know how long it is going to go for.
"The water is just vanishing. We have to try to cart water to cattle. That is impossible, and we can't sell them. The cattle are getting poorer and poorer, and starting to die."
Farmers are desperate - but those he knows will not talk about their feelings of despair.
"If you try to talk to another farmer about it, they look at it like: Why are you butting into my business? I am the same. I don't want to talk to anyone about it."
Cattle are calving in the paddocks, which is an added stress for owners when cattle are too weak to raise their calves. This is a part of a drought; weak cattle; not enough feed to raise calves or lambs; and the stock can't be sold or fed.
Depression, no male wants to talk about it.
- David Strelitz
"You have to have some time away from it. It eats your gut out. The only thing growing here at the moment is my ulcer. I wake up at 1.30 am, I think: 'Where do I go next? What do I do with my stock?' I drive around them, and I become completely depressed. I am doing as much as I can. I can't do any more, and they are just getting worse and worse."
The Department of Primary Industry will not allow any stock that cannot travel safely in a stock transport truck to travel to the yards, but offers support about euthanasia. Some farmers are letting their stock perish in their paddocks.
"At this point, I can't sell cows and calves," Mr Strelitz said. "They need support and food until it rains. Your stock has to be strong enough to take to market. No-one is going to buy a weak cow with a calf to feed; no-one will buy that at this time, so I will have to sell the rest of my herd. Perhaps I should have sold more sooner before they calved."
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David Strelitz remembers the advice he was given during the drought of 1962. His boss out west said: "Boy, get a chainsaw out there, and cut the scrub up for them. Let the sheep die, if they are going to die, but we will have some money to replace them. But if you start to feed them, then you spend your money, and you have nothing at the end of it."
Mr Strelitz thinks his boss was right. "We bought two chainsaws, cut down the trees, and fed the stock. We did not even have our natural stock losses for the year. So the boss walked away with the same number of sheep."
Farmers report the current desperation might leave Australia at risk of overseas purchases of our land.
"I heard that 95 farms in NSW alone belong to other countries than Australia," Mr Strelitz said.
"The only one doing any good at the moment is the export market. Cattle and stock are being sold to overseas buyers, and offshore go the profits.
"What the local farmers know through generations of farming in this area may not go through to the next generation.
"It is built in your blood. You know when you walk out in the morning if a cow has aborted a calf, and you need to take her into the yards and fix her up.
"The average person who comes into farming has no chance to learn this.
"The people think that when it is all over, we will have a boom in the rural industry, but it won't be like that. I have seen the market go up and then go back to an average level.
"On an average season, I carry 2400 cattle. I now have destocked, but I should have sold more than I did. Everyone says that when it ends, you won't be able to get the cattle.
"The stock is getting unsaleable; the aim was to keep them, but we might end up shooting them. I have 6500 acres, and I did not want to end up with nothing on it, not being able to produce beef.
"It will rain, and then for a few weeks the cockies will buy some stock to restock. The cattle will be expensive, but they will buy them. Then within a couple of months, the market will settle back down again.
"The government needs to get out there and have a go. I am heading for 80 on November 15, and I am very glad I am still upright," Mr Strelitz concluded.
MensLine offers a 24-hour counselling service for men: ring 1300 789 978. Lifeline provides a free, 24-hour Telephone Crisis Support service in Australia; phone 13 11 14.
