Covid Journal, Day 5: Foggy Tales Continued

Colder this morning at 48f, but the day cleared up to be a beautiful one. 

Continuing the thread of yesterday's post, I thought I'd share some stories in which fog and/or mist plays a role.

In Italy, in the Po Valley region, there are tales of a terrible creature called the Borda. The Borda is seen at night, and on foggy days, and eats little children who misbehave. A cautionary tale indeed! A grisly lullabye about the Borda goes like this:

Lullaby, the Borda

binds beautiful children with a rope.

With a rope and a cord,

binds the beautiful children and then holds them,

with a rope and a string,

binds the beautiful children and then kills them.

--from Wikipedia

And from the website, American Folklore comes this tall tale:

"Fog: A Maine Tall Tale  retold by S.E. Schlosser

You can talk 'til you're blue in the face about the thickest of fogs in ye merry olde England, but I'm tellin' you now, sure as I'm standing here, that England's fogs don't hold nothing over them thick fogs which roll in over the Bay of Fundy here in Maine. These ain't your little pea soupers, you can betcher life. These fogs is so thick you can drive a nail into them and hang yer hat on it. It's the honest truth.

One of my neighbors works a fishing boat, but he can't do nothin' when a Maine fog comes rolling into the bay. He always saves up his chores for a foggy day. One day, the fog came rollin' in overnight, and my friend knew there wasn't to be no fishin' that day. So he decides his roof needs shingling. He got started at the shingling right after breakfast, and didn't come down 'til dinner.

"Maude, we got a mighty long house," he told his wife over supper. "Took me all day to shingle."

Well, Maude knew right enough that they lived in a small house. After all, she'd been cleanin' it for nigh on twenty years, so who would know better? She went outside to take a look. And I'll be jiggered if she didn't discover that my neighbor had shingled right past the edge of the roof and out onto the fog!"

At Niagara Falls, you might have ridden on the boat The Maid of the Mist, that takes you under the Falls. I remember my trip on the boat vividly; it was exhilarating. 

The boat gets its name from an old Native American legend. According to the story, a young widow was so bereaved that she tried to commit suicide by riding her canoe over the falls. However, her courage failed her when she heard the roar of the water passing over the falls, and she prayed to Heno, god of thunder, to make her journey less painful. The god took pity on her and rescued her, taking her down under the falls to live; Eventually she married Heno's son, but she yearned to see her own people again. Heno told her that a great snake had come down the river and poisoning the water, and would soon destroy her people. She begged to be allowed to warn them, and Heno agreed to let her go for one hour. She went, and after the agreed upon time, Heno came to take her back to their home under the Falls.

The people heeded the warning and left, moving to higher ground. When the serpent arrived, expecting to eat the dead bodies of those poisoned, he was enraged to find not a single one. The snake turned back upstream, but Heno released a lightning bolt and killed the snake. Unfortunately, the snake's body floated down the river and blocked the falls over Heno's home. So Heno and his people left for a new home in the clouds, where they continue to watch over people on earth. An echo of his mighty thunder can still be heard in the roaring of Niagara Falls.

 

One more fog story. This story was told to me by a boy in Clendenin, WV, many years ago. Here's his story as I recall it:

"My Dad and I were coming home from the store. We were driving along Route 4, along the Elk River. It was a terrible foggy night, and no moon, so Dad was going real slow. We couldn't see anything. I was so scared, but I tried to help my Dad by watching the white line on the edge of the road on my side and telling him if he got too close to the edge. 

All of a sudden Dad hollered, "What the ...??? Look at that!" He was looking in the rear view mirror, and his eyes were real big. I looked back and saw these big red eyes coming right at us. Dad floored it, not even caring about whether he stayed on the road or not. But that thing swooped right up behind us, and went over our car. Dad hit the brakes and we stopped dead in the road. We could see the reflection of its red eyes in the fog ahead of us. Then it was gone. We just sat there for a while before Dad's hands quit shaking enough to drive."

Finishing up this post with a ballad about mist from the Max Hunter collection at Missouri State University. To hear it sung, click here. I wonder about the origin of this ballad--more research needed if I want to find out.

Rained a Mist

VERSE 1

It rained a mist, it rained all day

Two little boys went out to play

Went out on th grass to play, play, play

Went out on th grass to play

VERSE 2

Th first ball tossed, it was to high

Th next 'un was to low

Th next 'un was in a jewels room

Where no one's allowed to go, go, go

Where no one's allowed to go

VERSE 3

Out stepped a Jew all dressed so fine

Come in, come in, she called

Come in, come in, you brave little lad

An' you may have your ball, ball, ball

An' you may have your ball

VERSE 4

I won't come, I'll not come in

I won't come in your hall

For he who passes thru your hall

Will never get out at all, all, all

Will never get out at all

VERSE 5

Th first she showed 'im was a gold ring

Th next 'un was gold pin

Th next she showed 'im all fine things

To invite th little lad in, in, in

To invite th little lad in

VERSE 6

She taken him by his little hand

An' led 'im thru th hall

An' down in cellar dark an' deep

Where no one heerd him call, call, call

Where no one heerd him call

VERSE 7

She pinned a napking o'er his face

An' pinned it with gold pin

Then called for a vessel of gold

To catch his heart blood in, in ,in

To catch his heart blood in

VERSE 8

Go dig my grave both long an' wide

Go dig my grave for me

An' when my playmates calls for me

Tell them that I do sleep, sleep, sleep

Tell them that I do sleep

VERSE 9

Go place my songbook at my feet

My Bible at my head

An' when my parents calls for me

Tell them their little boy's dead, dead, dead

Tell them their little boy's dead

A few other links on this topic:

An interesting discussion of the origin of the word "fog".

Hecate, the Greek goddess, is often associated with mist and the night. 

A book that might be worth looking into: Varner, Gary R. (2007). Creatures in the Mist: Little People, Wild Men and Spirit Beings Around the World: A Study in Comparative Mythology. New York: Algora Publishing. ISBN 0-87586-546-1.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.