The Burrowye fog is famous. It sits over us for seven months of the year and at its best it gives us short hazy tunnel vision days where the washing never dries and the fire are always hungry and the footy goes on forever and the black cattle drop their calves under the great grey blanket over the paddock called Middle Jones. Sometime around Grand Final Weekend, the fogs depart and the neighbours start talking to each other and the whole parish start to bustle and blossom with manic energy. By December, the land is blue and gold . The trickling stream of visitors swells to a full flood around Christmas and peaks on Australia day. The AGA gets turned off and the Weber gets turned on. We cook, we garden, we party, we sell cattle and we look at results of the cool burns we did on the hill pastures over winter. Get ready to share our glorious summer.