This morning's foggy weather put me in a reminiscing mood. Now granted, the proximity of a friends-and-family oriented holiday probably contributes, but I actually found something comforting about driving through the blanket of white. My hometown was notorious for winter fog, the result of a unique combination of topography and prevailing weather patterns. Whereas schools further north would build "snow days" into their schedule, we had "fog days." The fog would be so bad they'd be afraid to put the school busses out on the road, and I remember my father coming home telling us how the drivers downtown couldn't see the stoplights at the intersection of Main and Front — they'd yell out the window to each other as to when each car could take its turn going through. I remember, too, waking up to the lightest dusting of white on everything — not snow, but the result of "seeding the fog," where they drop dry ice crystals into the fog to get it to break up, at least around the airport.
The one thing missing from the fog of my youth is the temperature. There, fog happened around freezing temperatures, making driving in it even more exciting. Here, I still find myself deceived that it can be foggy outside, and yet still in the 60's or above. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I can take the appearance of purity that fog provides without the bone-chilling effects of an Oregon winter. Trust me.
