Remote NSW families celebrate 70 years of School of the Air with 'Dust Off and Dish Up' cookbook

In the far reaches of western New South Wales, where the nearest supermarket might be two hundred kilometres away and a visit to neighbours requires hours of driving, a meal shared together carries weight that city dwellers rarely experience. The Broken Hill School of the Air, which has been educating remote station children for seven decades, recently published a cookbook called Dust Off and Dish Up to mark the milestone—and in doing so, captured something essential about how isolated communities hold themselves together.

The book is more than recipes. It's a fundraising project by the school's parent association, and it gathers cooking instructions alongside stories from families scattered across the outback, practical bush wisdom accumulated over generations, and reflections on how remote education has transformed since the 1960s. Bessie Thomas, who lives at Burragan Station and serves as co-editor, describes the rhythms of connection out there: smoko in the paddock, birthday barbecues, drinks by the dam. "Cooking is what kept people connected in the bush," she says. For her three children, who attend the school online, the experience has shifted dramatically from what their predecessors knew. Technology has advanced so much in recent years—especially since COVID—that students now have regular face-to-face video contact with teachers and classmates before they ever meet in person at the Broken Hill campus.

The school itself has travelled an extraordinary distance. When Anny O'Connor learned through the School of the Air in the late 1960s, lessons arrived in the weekly mail and instruction happened over a transceiver radio. She recalls schooling interrupted by a poddy foal named Tiny Tim wandering off, or days spent checking water sources with her father that stretched into overnight trips. The cookbook preserves these stories alongside the recipes—sausage rolls, quiche, brownie, sponge cake, pumpkin soup—that families have passed down. Lachlan Gall from Langawirra Station contributed instructions for catching and cooking yabbies, delivered with dry humour: boil decent ones for five minutes, he advises, but if they're small, chuck them back and go home for chops instead. He also warns against cooking them in the kitchen. "You will stink the house out and she-who-must-be-obeyed won't be pleased at all."

The practical wisdom runs deeper than recipes. For families living hours from the nearest chemist or supermarket, the cookbook includes home remedies and cleaning hacks—temporary solutions between town trips, gathered from people who have learned to make do. Former student Ainsley Fuster, who photographed the cookbook cover, discovered that capturing food in the outback presents its own challenges. "Out in the middle of the paddock, there's flies everywhere, it's warm so the cream in the sponge was starting to melt," she recalls. Behind every polished image was fanning cream and swatting flies.

Since its release in March, the Broken Hill Bookshop has repeatedly sold out. Owner Amanda Murray wasn't surprised. "I think it's just the easy recipes," she says, noting that the lemon slice sold out quickly after she brought one into the shop. But the reach has extended far beyond the region—copies have been posted to Tasmania, South Australia, and towns like Mudgey in NSW. Many buyers have personal history with the school, either as former students or as parents whose children attended.

The money raised goes toward funding bus trips, school camps, and supplies for the Broken Hill campus. These aren't luxuries. Remote students face barriers that their urban counterparts don't: most children can attend weekend sport every weekend, but students spread across hundreds of kilometres of outback cannot. The distance creates a structural disadvantage that the school works constantly to overcome. Back at Burragan Station, Bessie has been testing recipes from the cookbook for family, friends, and contractors. She's currently obsessed with the Spring Hill Lamb recipe, which she recently used to make slow-cooked pulled lamb rolls for musterers passing through. "It's essential, but it's also really precious," she says of cooking for community. "This is a real celebration of that. It's something that brings everyone together and something we all have to do, and this is a lovely way to grab little snippets from everyone's lives in a way that connects the broader community."