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.

Covid Journal, Day 234: The Bright Hollow Fog

Warm as can be yesterday, high in the upper 70's. Rain moved in overnight and is still falling today. Temps cooled off too, and will be in the 40's tonight. 

Such a perfect November kind of day, after a couple weeks of abnormally warm weather. Today was rain and fog, dark and dreary. 

The fog, and my cousin John's beautiful post on his blog By Stargoose and Hanglands, made me think about folklore about fog. And, of course, there is. I did not find much particular to the Appalachian region in my searches, although it is often thought that the fogs and mists that rise from our hollows in these mountains are the source of many a ghostly experience. And no wonder, for the fog twisting and winding through trees can easily make one think it was something unworldly, and not just a natural phenomena. 

The only local lore I have heard about fog is that is there is a heavy fog in the morning in spring, there will be no frost. Also, a morning fog in summer means no rain that day. I have found both of these to hold true most of the time. And of course, a misty/foggy ring around the moon means rain on the way--when it will fall depends on how many stars are within the ring. If none, it will rain the next day; if 2, then rain in two days, and so on.

I did find quite a few superstitions about fog and mist, almost all of them weather-related. Which makes sense, right? For example:

If a morning fog rises rapidly, or is there is mist in the air at dawn in winter, rain is on the way.

According to one source, a foggy day was regarded with care because people thought it meant the gods wanted to communicate. Gatherings would be held at sacred places in hopes of receiving these communications. 

A day when the fog hangs around most of the day, like today, was believed in some cultures to mean something good was on the way. I certainly hope this one is right. We could use some good things happening. However, in other places, it was thought to mean that death or some other terrible event was about to take place. 

A foggy morning in a West Virginia state park.

And then, in still other places, it was said that if you were single and met someone on a foggy day, marriage would come of it. That reminds me of the movie we just watched tonight, Return of the Native, based on the book by Thomas Hardy. The book has long been a favorite of mine and I have had a copy on my bookshelves for probably 50 years. In the story, a young man is walking through a heavy fog when a beautiful woman and a white horse appear in front of him--and the woman disappears when a heavy drift of fog momentarily hides her from sight. And yes, the couple does get married. 

Fog off the cost of Inis Mor, Ireland, when we were there in 2017.

And a few more about the weather:

Fog in winter foretells wind and cold.

The number of fogs in August is an indication of the number of snows we'll have in the coming winter.

The following are from the book Weather Lore: A Collection of Proverbs, Sayings and Rules Concerning the Weather, written by Richard Inward in 1898. 

A good hay year, a bad fog year.

Much fog in autumn, much snow in winter.

A winter fog will freeze a dog.

If in winter the barometer rises very high, and a thick fog sets in, it is a sure sign that the south-west and north-east winds are " fighting each other." Neither of them can make head against the other, and there is a calm, but there is great danger of such a state of things being followed by a bad gale.—United States.

Fog in January brings a wet Spring. Fog in February means frosts in May.

There will be as many frosts in June as fogs in February.

Fogs in March, frosts in May.

Fog in March, thunder in July.

As much fog in March, so much rain in summer.

As much dew in March, so much fog rises in August. And fog in August means plenty of snow in January.

Fogs in April foretell a failure of the wheat crop--this one from Alabama.

If the first three days of April be foggy, there will be a flood

in June.

If the first three days in April be foggy.

Rain in June will make the lanes boggy.

Observe on what day in August the first heavy fog occurs, and expect a hard frost on the same day in October. from the US.

In the Mississippi valley, when fogs occur in August, expect fever and ague in the following fall

A very foggy topic! So to finish up, here's a lovely tune, The Bright Hollow Fog, by the group Inis Fail. I confess I'd never heard of them until turning up this video, but I like this. I first heard the tune being played by my friend Jenny Allinder, but don't have a video of her playing it on fiddle with her friend Jim Mullins on guitar, but this version is pretty nice. Enjoy.

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

Foggy Morning, Pretty Birds and Breakfast

 Life has been slower recently. No amazing things have happened, just the routine of everyday. Which is lovely in itself. I truly enjoy this time of regrouping and catching up. Yesterday was like a spring day, and it was so nice to go out without coat or jacket and enjoy the sun. I looked for my crocuses but none are yet in bloom. After that beautiful day the rain came in the night, and we woke to a soft fog-wrapped world.

We've been home a lot, working on a variety of projects. I am so amazed when people complain that they're bored--how is that possible? Each day brings so many possibilities that it's often difficult to choose which one to pursue. I did get one major task off my list, creating my postcards to promote the program I'm offering libraries for their Summer Reading theme this summer. About half are in the mail already so I feel like I'm on top of that project.

I've gotten back into the painting workroom, finished up a small piece and have my plans in line for the next 4 or 5 projects.

I also began learning about and selling vintage sheets and pillowcases online. I never knew so many people were into them! I like older sheets myself and that's all we use but I figured I was just weird. But as it turns out there are a lot of people like me to prefer the quality and feel of the older linens.

Today we're having a slow, Sunday-morning start. Larry made Sunday morning breakfast: eggs, bacon, rosemary bread toast, grits, jam and coffee. That's a meal that sets a person up for hours!

Pretty little glass birds shine in the gray morning on a kitchen windowsill. It's little things like this, a good breakfast, glass birds sparkling in the window, daffodils on the table, that make me smile. Little things. We need to stop and recognize the goodness they add to our lives. The world will careen on its crazy way, but we can slow it down in our own corner by taking time for little things.

Today's to-do includes meeting up with a friend to pick up some things I'm buying from her, then giving a short talk at the county historical society meeting about the West Virginia History Hero award I received recently. Then it's home to do a little painting and prepare for a presentation to a college class tomorrow, on Appalachian storytelling.

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