The Mountain Laurel
The Journal of Mountain Life

Visit us on FaceBookGenerations of Memories
from the
Heart of the Blue Ridge


By Susan M. Thigpen © 1983-2012

Issue: April, 1983

According to Carl Sandburg, the fog creeps in on tiny cats paws. In the mountains, it isn’t quite so subtle. There have been some pretty tall tales told over how thick the fog gets around here. The following collection contains some of the best (and worst) of them.

How thick was it? The fog was so thick I saw a groundhog three foot off the ground trying to dig a hole.

Another source said he heard of a man who was trying to shingle his roof in a fog so thick that he shingled a foot beyond the eaves before he realized it.

Then there was the man out driving when he slammed on his brakes to keep from hitting a car coming at him only to realize it was the reflection of his own headlights off a solid wall of fog. (I personally have driven in fog so thick I was half-way down my neighbor’s driveway before I found out I was not still on the main road!)

One farmer supposedly slices it in hunks and sells it to tourists. I think he’s the same one who mixes it with grain to make the feed go farther for his cows.

Another farmer once turned two acres of fog before he realized he didn’t have his plow in the dirt. It didn’t bother him, he said it was the easiest crop of potatoes he ever dug.

If you have any fog stories to top these, send them in and we will print them in a future issue.