Fogember

November weather at last. The kind of weather that makes some people want to dig a hole, line it with balsam boughs and burrow in for a long nap. I don't frequent the local bars, but I imagine business is brisk with the shorter daylight hours and no incentive to be outside in glorious autumn smoky-sunny days like we've had in abundance. Most just work harder wearing their nose on the grindstone. The kids and I find a ton of odd jobs to while away the time. Another truck load of firewood takes me two days to unload. Seems a shame to waste 4x4 cut off blocks of oak, maple and walnut.

Yesterday dense morning fog didn't recede until late afternoon. Early on, the trees in the field just over the highway were like shrouded ghosts. A local feller stopped by asking about two dogs running loose on the state highway. Whenever anything happens on the highway, people assume we are the information booth for wandering cattle, lost dogs or free rides to the next town. The people who live around the corner on the county highway have two mutts of indistinguishable breeds who like to wander. Wayne(the guy who stopped) says he almost ran one of the pair over. Three thirty rolls around. Time for my daily visit to the library. The fog turned to drizzle. It wasn't cold enough for a wood fire, but working the last of the garden chores near noon made my nose run. Maybe I won't get rid of my old geezer beard after all.

Back when I ran a trading post in the bowels of a city just off the main drag, I'd watch cars lining up to get the hell out of Dodge. There was an on-ramp for the freeway spur right in front of the store. The freeway was built on stilts and ran above the city streets. In the dark underbelly of the concrete jungle, various parking companies made fortunes off office workers who paid to leave their cars under the concrete roof. Wishing I were one of the people eager to head home after another mind numbing day in front of a computer screen, I made good on my promise to the inner me and fled to Arizona where the skies are not cloudy all day. It's funny though how the mind works. Week after week passes without a change in the weather. Six months later you haven't seen a rain cloud. One starts wishing for the same thing that drove you November nuts.

As a follow up to my Teddy Bear's Picnic post the other day, I thought I'd show the view from the ridge top. You might want to click on the image to get a better idea of the breathtaking view. The camera never does justice to standing next to the pick up truck at the edge of a hayfield looking down the valley. The other drawback is that unless I fiddle with the camera and stitch all three shots side by side, one still doesn't get the panoramic 270 degree view. Early morning on a summer's day, the sun's been up for several hours while the fog lies in white cotton tufts down in that valley in the upper middle of the shot. So when I describe dense fog, remember that 95% of the mornings in summer we're totally fogged in until the sun cuts the fog curtain about 9:30.


Johann's wanting to bottle wine today. I haven't stared out the kitchen long enough to figure out a plan for the day. Mandy's yodeling behind me. It's her way of talking. She sounds like she saying "out".