Grain silos have long been at the heart of grain belt communities, but as hundreds close down across Australia, the imposing structures are becoming symbols of the past.

Space to play or pause, M to mute, left and right arrows to seek, up and down arrows for volume. Listen Duration: 6 minutes 24 seconds 6 m As hundreds of small grain receival sites close across Australia, ABC Rural visits the small operational silos in Yaapeet to ask staff and grain producers what they mean to the community. ( Danielle Grindlay ) Download 11.7 MB

Graincorp shut down more than a third of its receival sites and made it clear more would follow.

The company, along with all other major grain handlers, said it was "improving" the transport network and overall service to farmers.

So are silo closures a sign of progress or decline? What do they mean to towns and farmers?

ABC Rural visited Yaapeet's Graincorp site, where grain producers have been delivering wheat and barley for 76 years.

Although there is no official directive, site staff and local grain growers know it is only a matter of time before their silos become defunct too.

Grain silos, the last sign of life in Yaapeet

The town of Yaapeet, on the edge of Victoria's Mallee region, is like an island in the middle of a sea of wheat and barley.

One could almost describe it as a deserted island.

There is an abandoned store, its windows caked in dust, bricks piled up out the front.

The tables and chairs are still in place, as if its owner just walked out one day and never turned back.

But Yaapeet is not quite deserted.

When grain harvest is underway there is a hive of activity underneath its two 30-metre tall grain silos.

Farmer Owen Morley is worried the closure of Yaapeet's silos could mark the end of the small town.

"You lose your post office, you lose your shop, we've lost our footy team," he said.

"Take the silo away and you think what the hell? There's nothing here.

"It's already nearly a ghost town now."

An abandoned shop in Yaapeet, western Victoria. ( Danielle Grindlay )

Longest serving Graincorp employee describes 40 years of change in grain industry

Len 'Squatter' Coffey has been handling grain in western Victoria since the early-1980s and is still stationed at Yaapeet silos.

He is confident about claiming the title of Graincorp's longest-serving employee.

The amount of grain Squatter receives today is similar to that of 40 years ago, but every other part of the process has been transformed.

Trucks are ten times the size, meaning farmers make fewer trips to the silos.

Harvest takes about a quarter of the time, and the number of grain farmers has decreased dramatically.

"Neighbours are buying neighbours out," he said.

"The older farmers, some of them don't have family so they pull out.

"A lot of names are gone now, that were around when I first started."

Producers are also storing and trading grain themselves, as depicted by the silos and storage bags scattered across Victorian paddocks.

Squatter said the 'middle man' was slowly losing relevance.

"[Farmers] are not even on their tractors as much, with the direct drilling, so they've got time there where they can be a grain handler themselves," he said.

"It's making it harder for the people that want this [site] to remain; if you lose one or two blokes each year, one day they'll look at it and say you're not viable."

Farmers lose money on grain, to keep 'Paradise' open

Len 'Squatter' Coffey and Graincorp Yaapeet site manager Michelle Summerhayes ( Danielle Grindlay )

Yaapeet grain receival site features a shady outdoor area created by grain growers, who often stop to share a soft drink and yarn with Graincorp staff.

Manager Michelle Summerhayes said producers treated the site as their own.

"They'll come in and do maintenance around the site if it needs doing, just to make sure they've got this place that they're proud of," she said.

"We had a grower this year, our cash price was $10 less than everywhere else and he still brought it here and took less money for those tonnes.

"So if it was to close it would be really sad for people like that, that in a hard year on farmers, they're willing to take less money just to support their local silo."

A former local, Ms Summerhayes now lives more than two hours' drive from Yaapeet.

But she plans to keep returning for harvest as long as the silos remain open.

"This silo's got it's own little nickname, called 'Paradise'," she said.

"I presume I'd work at a different site or something like that [if Yaapeet closed down] but there's place like Paradise."

Farmers 'cop' extra costs, as local silos disappear

On a map, the dots representing Yaapeet, Rainbow and Beulah are just fingers apart, so would it really matter if one receival site was cut from the triangle?

"Absolutely," grain producer Larry Davidson said.

Should Yaapeet silos close, he would be forced to cart grain an extra 20 kilometres.

He said the extra costs for time, fuel and staffing requirements would significantly impact profit margins.

"When you're thinking about getting so many loads in for a day, it's a big difference," he said.

"It's not a good feel for a lot of farmers, to be moving further and further away with their product."

Owen Morley is one of the loyal growers, who said keeping the Yaapeet site open was far more than sentimentality.

"They're important to a lot of people around the place," he said.

"A lot of people do a lot of work here."

Squatter shares awe of grain silo 'monuments'

Len 'Squatter' Coffey receives a load of grain at Yaapeet silos, western Victoria. ( Danielle Grindlay )

Now 63 years old, Squatter has given 42 years of his life to Graincorp, but retirement is the last thing on his mind.

"That's my biggest worry, retiring," he said.

"I've got my horse riding and plenty I can do, but this is good. I just love going to work."

To a passerby, the Yaapeet silos look like the hundreds of others seen looming over small Australian towns.

But every day, when Squatter enters the 1939 structures, he marvels at the construction and history.

"It's 90 feet to the top of the concrete and 110 feet to the top of the iron," he said.

"It was mixed on the ground by hand, on a sheet of tin.

"Every time I walk in here I think 'what a thing to do'. That's something you'll never lose, that feeling from it.

"You go somewhere to see a statue or something, a monument — we've got them and people just drive past them."