Fog

Ship in Fog, Gloucester Harbor - Fitz Henry Lane
(Source)*

Friday morning began in a fog. A literal fog, mentally I was pretty alert when Sasha prodded me with her paw and gave a plaintive meow, indicating that I should get my not insubstantial derrière out of bed and proceed with all due haste to the mess decks where I should commence the morning feline feeding activities.

Before that was accomplished, I happened to glance outside. The sun wasn't quite up yet but it was light enough to see that there was a bit of mist in the air. Apparently it had also rained sometime in the night. The streets were soaked as was the deck. I figured we'd had a heavy fog in the night, but The Missus Herself, the resident farmer here at Chez Sarge, pointed out that the ground underneath the wee Japanese maples was dry. When it's a heavy dew, fog, or mist, that ground is as wet as anywhere else, but when it rains it stays dry.

Good to know.

Once I had fed the feline inhabitants and performed my morning ablutions and jumped in the vehicle for the morning go, I looked about and noted that the mist was still in the air, a bit of fog still clinging to the tree tops. A simply glorious morning, best part of it was that it was a Friday morning. Okay, you retirees, stop snickering. We know that "every day is a Saturday" for you folks. And yes Russ, I'm looking at you! ;)

Anyhoo...

I headed down the neck (another word for a peninsula), Bristol Neck that is, off to work on Aquidneck Island. (Which is technically Rhode Island, which the inhabitants call "The Island," as if it was the only one. Remember, the official name of Little Rhody is The State of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations. There's The Island and everything else. So yes, I guess you could say I live on a plantation. And yes, the social "justice" types once raised a stink about that. The state told 'em to go pound sand.

So, heading down the neck to the island, er I mean, The Island, I noticed that Bristol Harbor was a bit foggier than up at my place, especially out towards the bay. It was something to see the moored sailboats against a backdrop of mist. No, I didn't take a picture. Yes, I wish I had but remember, I was on my way to work and the earlier I report it, the earlier I can leave.

I did mention that it was Friday, neh?

When I got to the Mount Hope Bridge (depicted below on a bright sunny day), it was like plunging off the end of the world.

Google Maps Street View

I could not see the far tower of the bridge, I could not see the top of the near tower. As for the water itself? Not a hint, totally socked in. It felt like the bridge just ended in the fog. As I drove across to the other side, the sun could be glimpsed through the mist. Exactly as shown in the opening painting. It was really awesome.

No, I didn't take a picture, I was driving. That wouldn't be very safe now, would it? While I have this vivid mental picture, I don't have the technology to download that from my brain to this here computational device.

Sigh...

It was pretty cool looking.

Czai W Mgła (Lurking in the Fog) -  Antoni Piotrowski
(Source)

No, I didn't see any uhlans. But they could have been out there, lurking.  I do like the painting though. A lot.

This one too...

Meeresstrand im Nebel - Caspar David Friedrich
(Source)

I like fog. When I'm at home, looking out at it.

Being at sea in the fog? Scary. Did it once on the ferry from Point Judith to Block Island, thought how cool it was to be out of sight of land (we weren't, on a clear day you can see the mainland and the island, no problemo). It hit me that we were also out of sight of other ships and boats. I rather hoped everyone had radar, had it up, had someone watching it, and that the range scale was accurate.

Fog can be scary. (Maybe Congress will ban it?)







* Fitz Henry Lane’s masterpiece Ship in Fog, Gloucester Harbor is an archetype of Luminism, a style characterized by an intense preoccupation with light and atmosphere that flourished among a group of American painters between 1850 and 1875. Luminist artists evinced an acute awareness of the natural world and sought to unite matter and spirit through a focus on atmospheric effects, captured in works rendered with great subtlety and carefully wrought detail, often evoking a magical stillness. Aligned with the philosophical precepts of Ralph Waldo Emerson and the Transcendentalists, who saw nature as the ultimate expression of the divine, Luminist painters produced, in the sparsely peopled and sparely composed canvases they favored, perhaps the most meditative and captivating landscapes in American art. Editor: Just thought I'd mention that.