Regional homelessness crisis drives surge in food charities across Australia

Thousands of regional Australians, including families with children, are experiencing homelessness or housing stress, with some living in vehicles while maintaining school attendance.
People just really appreciate the effort and time involved
Dave Meadows explains why he serves slow-cooked barbecue instead of simple soup to people experiencing homelessness.
Mark

Why is homelessness in regional Australia so much worse than in the cities?

Mimi

The data suggests it's three times higher, but the real answer is probably about invisibility and distance. In cities, homelessness is concentrated, visible, harder to ignore. In regions, people are spread out, living in cars or under trees. Services are thinner. Housing is cheaper but still out of reach for people with no income.

Mark

Rosslynne Crawford has been waiting three years for a house. Is that normal?

Mimi

It appears to be. The waiting lists are long, and the crisis is recent enough that the system hasn't caught up. What struck me is that she doesn't sound bitter about it. She's found community at the food charity. That matters more than we usually acknowledge.

Mark

Dave Meadows took his family on the road to serve barbecue. That seems like a lot of effort for a temporary fix.

Mimi

It is temporary. But he's not pretending otherwise. What he's doing is two things at once: he's meeting an immediate need—1,350 meals—and he's trying to shift how people think about homelessness. He's saying these people deserve better than soup and sandwiches. They deserve care.

Mark

Did his daughters understand what they were doing?

Mimi

He says his eldest flourished, gained confidence. Whether a nine-year-old truly grasps homelessness is one question. But she learned that her family's effort mattered to strangers. That's not nothing.

Mark

What happens after the Meadows family goes home?

Mimi

The charities they partnered with keep working. The underfunding doesn't change. But they have $10,552 more than they had before, and they have evidence that the community cares. Sometimes that's what allows a charity to keep going.

  • Homelessness requests in Broken Hill surged 48% since 2022-23, with families living in cars while their children still attend school — a quiet crisis hiding in plain sight.
  • Regional Australians are going homeless at more than triple the rate of city dwellers, yet the crisis remains largely invisible to urban policymakers and the broader public.
  • Charities like Feeding Friends and St Vincent de Paul are absorbing demand they were never resourced to meet, sustained by volunteers and local business donations rather than adequate government funding.
  • Dave Meadows loaded his family and a trailer of smokers onto the road for 59 days, serving 1,350 meals across 18 locations in four states under the banner of Smoke and Soul.
  • The project raised over $10,500 beyond its costs, with all surplus donated back to partner charities — a grassroots response to a structural failure, landing as both relief and rallying call.

In the far reaches of regional Australia, a homelessness crisis has taken root at three times the rate of major cities, quietly reshaping the lives of families, children, and individuals like Rosslynne Crawford, who has waited three years beneath a peppercorn tree for a home that has not yet come. The weight of rising rents, underfunded charities, and overstretched public housing systems has pushed thousands to the margins — not in the shadows of anonymous cities, but in the towns and landscapes that many Australians still imagine as places of resilience and space. Into this gap, ordinary people are stepping forward, carrying barbecues and goodwill across four states, reminding us that dignity is not a luxury but a form of solidarity.

Rosslynne Crawford, a 38-year-old Barkindji woman, has spent three years sleeping rough in Broken Hill, waiting for public housing that has not arrived. Each night she joins others at Kintore Reserve, where Feeding Friends sets up to serve meals to anyone who needs one. For Crawford, the food matters — but the human connection matters more.

The numbers behind her story are sobering. St Vincent de Paul in Broken Hill has seen a 48 percent rise in assistance requests since 2022-23, with more than one in four people seeking help either homeless or in temporary accommodation. New national data confirms that regional Australians experience homelessness at over three times the rate of city dwellers. Don Barron of Feeding Friends has watched the crisis change shape: young families are now among those living in cars, their children still going to school each morning.

In Adelaide, Dave Meadows had been noticing the same tide rising. For three years he had run a barbecue for people sleeping rough, and each year more people came. Wondering whether what he saw locally was playing out across the country, he made a decision: he would find out for himself.

Meadows packed smokers and barbecues into a trailer and set off with his wife and two young daughters — Charlotte, nine, and Sofia, five — on a 59-day journey through South Australia, Victoria, New South Wales, and Queensland. The Smoke and Soul project partnered with charities in 18 locations, with a simple conviction: people doing it tough deserve more than soup and sandwiches. They deserve a real food experience.

The family returned to Adelaide in mid-August having served roughly 1,350 meals. Their fundraiser generated $10,552 more than they spent, every dollar of which was donated back to the charities they had worked alongside. Meadows hoped the journey would inspire others to volunteer, and watched his eldest daughter grow in confidence with each stop. In a landscape where government support and charity resources are stretched to breaking point, Smoke and Soul offered something harder to quantify than a meal — the knowledge that someone, somewhere, genuinely cares.

Rosslynne Crawford sleeps under what she calls the peppercorn tree in Broken Hill, a far-west town in New South Wales where she has been waiting three years for public housing. The 38-year-old Barkindji woman is one of thousands of regional Australians caught in a homelessness crisis that has quietly deepened over the past few years, largely invisible to those living in the country's major cities.

Every night at Kintore Reserve, a local food charity called Feeding Friends sets up to serve anyone who needs a meal. Crawford is a regular. She appreciates the food—it saves her from having to cook and build a fire—but what she values most is the human contact. "It keeps my mind entertained and occupied, really, away from those distractions, what I had in my past," she said. The charity has grown steadily, sustained by weekly donations from local businesses and the work of volunteers who understand that a warm meal is sometimes the only stable thing in someone's day.

The numbers tell a stark story. St Vincent de Paul Society in Broken Hill has fielded a 48 percent jump in requests for assistance since 2022-23. More than one in four people seeking help are experiencing homelessness or living in temporary accommodation. More than two in five are facing housing stress. But Broken Hill is not an outlier. New data from the Australian Institute of Health and Welfare reveals that regional Australians are experiencing homelessness at more than three times the rate of those in major cities. Don Barron, head of Feeding Friends, has watched the crisis shift in character. "The need has certainly grown in the way of young families," he said. "We have homeless people in Broken Hill who do have children; they still go to school, but they're living in cars."

Dave Meadows is not a professional chef. For three years he has been running a barbecue event in Adelaide, serving slow-cooked meat to people experiencing homelessness. Each year, more people showed up. "Our numbers in Adelaide are just going up and up," he said. "They can't afford to rent anywhere, and they're sleeping rough." Meadows began to wonder if what he was witnessing in Adelaide was happening everywhere. He decided to find out.

With his family—his wife and two daughters, Charlotte and Sofia, ages nine and five—Meadows packed a trailer with smokers and barbecues and set out to deliver warm meals across four states. The Smoke and Soul project, as they called it, partnered with local charities in 18 locations across South Australia, Victoria, New South Wales, and Queensland. Meadows believed that people experiencing homelessness deserved more than the simple fare most charities could afford to provide. "Usually, people who are doing it hard only often receive pretty simple food like soup and sandwiches," he said. "That's largely due to the charities being quite underfunded. But it's my aim to give people who are sleeping rough a food experience."

The family raised funds and hit the road. Meadows wanted his daughters to understand the importance of helping others. "Especially my eldest, she's really flourished over this whole time, her confidence has gone up, and she gets really excited about helping others," he said. The couple also hoped the project would inspire others in their communities to volunteer. "These charities that we are partnered with are always looking for help," Meadows said.

After 59 days on the road, the family returned to Adelaide in mid-August. They had served approximately 1,350 meals. The fundraiser had raised $10,552 more than they spent, and they donated the surplus back to the charities they had worked with along the way. "What we're doing is sharing hope and happiness and showing people who are doing it tough out there that there are other people out there who care," Meadows said. The initiative is a reminder that in regions where government support and charity resources are stretched thin, ordinary people are stepping in to fill the gap—one meal, one conversation, one act of dignity at a time.

It keeps my mind entertained and occupied, really, away from those distractions, what I had in my past.
— Rosslynne Crawford, on attending the Feeding Friends charity meals
We have homeless people in Broken Hill who do have children; they still go to school, but they're living in cars.
— Don Barron, head of Feeding Friends
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