The Foggy, Foggy Dew


Fog and the flag

October 30 – When we woke up the other day, I looked out the window to see what kind of day we would have. Day? What day? We couldn’t even see past the apricot tree just outside the house! Fog, and more fog! Out I went with bare feet because I didn’t want to take the time to put on shoes, and I figured they would be soaked anyway, as the grass was just about dripping. I knew the flag was just across from the porch, but I couldn’t see it to make sure. As I walked towards the road, I practically lost contact with the house and could see absolutely nothing of the neighbors’ house up the hill. The sun was trying and trying to let me know it was still there, but just couldn’t break through that thick gray mist.

I began to wonder if we would even be able to get to church and how long it would take to drive there. The fog had not lifted at all in the next half hour before we drove out of the driveway. Still couldn’t see the house on the hill. I drove very carefully, trying to stay off to the side of the road. Normally, around here in our country area, we can drive right down the middle if we wish, dodging pot holes, and staying in the middle of the bridges. That morning though, I stayed in the proper lane all the way. But, guess what? We met not even one other driver, coming or going in the eight miles to the church.

141030_fog2Some of the early birds hadn’t arrived yet, by the time we did. Strange, because some of those folks are always the first to arrive. One of these couples has to drive over 25 miles from their home, mostly on a highway that turns off to the road on which the church is. No wonder they were late! The fog was so thick at the turn-off, that poor Jim drove right on past the turn-off and had to drive a couple miles before he could get back on the highway travelling west. Eventually, he did come up to the turn, but it was on the opposite side of the highway, so he had to wait till he found a place to get back on the highway going east. Fortunately, he didn’t miss the turn this time. I think he must have turned the problem over to his wife Pat, who told him when the turn was coming up. Those two were subjected to a bit of razzing, but didn’t seem to mind. As we looked out the church windows, we could see that the fog had not yet lifted.

Through the day I remembered the poem by Carl Sandburg, a short little verse, but very descriptive. He had written the poem when he was in Chicago to interview a juvenile court judge. Mr. Sandburg had seen lots of fog before, but since he had to wait forty minutes for the judge with only a piece of newspaper on which to write, he decided to scribble down the following:

And that’s what I need to do, too – move on to other things! – CHRIS

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