One Foggy Morning
The temperature here has been unseasonably warm of late. It’s not something that I’m going to complain about. It meant that I was able to get out and prune back the crazy tangle of grape vines that have not seen the sharp edge of a pair of shears since they’ve been planted. And with the generous help of Pete’s mom, I was able to easily break ground around the rain guage to plant daffodil bulbs. Come spring, the rain guage will sport a more cheerful look because who likes a drab rain guage. Today with the weather being even better than the day before, Pete and I lit out in the car heading due west to the woods with Bowzer B. Dawg in the back, and a bucket of Blue Spruce saplings in the front which we planted in a bare patch of the aforementioned woods. (And then I snuck into Lucille’s garden and picked myself a big bag of brussel sprouts from the remainder of her crop. But don’t tell her I said that. Oh never mind…I did tell her after the fact, she is Pete’s mom after all. And I think she’d notice that one of her plants has been stripped practically bare. And I can’t blame Bowzer because he doesn’t like Brussel Sprouts, the Dawg has a problem with healthy food.)
Along with this oddly warm weather, we’ve also been having a couple of very foggy mornings. I love my foggy-weather mornings. I feel like I’m enclosed in my own little space, wrapped in a soft, guazy cocoon buffered from the outside world, that is until the sun strengthens and burns its way back through the fog and reasserts its right on the day:
With this strange November weather, I’m just not sure what winter has in store for us. Will it be mild? Will there be snow? Or will it truly be the end of the world as we know it? And me without an adequate supply of canned goods. I should know better.