Reasonably Educated Bumpkins

Put aside what you may think you know about California weather; if you live in the California's Great Central Valley, including where I live in the northern part, you know that late fall through winter is Fog Season.

This is how I imagine London fog:

(Photo stolen from Homemade on Flickr)

This is the romantic version of fog, in a Bronte sisters sort of world:

(Photo stolen from vp_bsu on Flickr)

This is what fog looks like around here, and we call it tule (TOO-lee) fog:

(Photo stolen from Tony Dunn Photography -- a very talented local photographer who is SO worth checking out)

Honestly, though, when the tule fog is at its worst, it looks more like this:

and few people are apt to get their cameras out on such days, since it's pretty much pointless. Out in the country there are no streetlights, few houses to guide you as you creep down the dark roads, and even fewer passing cars. And there could be animals on the road -- dogs, cats, skunks, possums, heaven forbid cows. Satellite imagery shows you what we're dealing with, and it's no fun to drive in, especially on the freeways down near Fresno:

(Image stolen from these guys)

But I'm here to talk about splat fog. What? You say you've never heard of splat fog? Well, that's because my best friend Cheryl and I named it. It looks a little like this:

(Photo stolen from these guys)

. . . or this:

(Photo stolen from VillaRhapsody on Flickr)

. . . and it rides the earth's surface at about eye level. Cheryl and I call it splat fog.

When we were newly-legal drivers, Cheryl (who lived a couple of miles north of me) gave me a ride home one winter evening. As we turned down my road (known to those of us who live there as ground zero for fog) we could see bands of fog hanging above the road ahead of us. As we drove through it, the fog seemed to splat on the windshield, then slide unctuously up and over the roof of the car. It was like driving under a thick wool blanket, and we grimaced each time a band of the stuff "hit" the window, so solid did it look. We were giggling like kindergarteners, until we got halfway down the road and the splat fog mysteriously ended. "One more time!" one of us hollered, and Cheryl threw the car into reverse and backed up the road to do it again. We did it several more times, actually, backing up each time. I have no idea why backing up was the thing to do -- it was a very long way in reverse with only back-up lights to guide her -- but when you're 16 anything is possible, and all things are sensible.

While I have seen splat fog many times since that time, it's never been as spectacular as it was that night, and I have never again experienced it quite that way. I guess that's part of the magic of youth, and of charging through the world with your best friend.

(Photo stolen from Sarathine on Flickr)