Shrouded Landscape

I took another drive down Indiana 37 all the way from Indianapolis to the Ohio River, at Tell City. It was later in the morning this time so the light began to broaden around Paoli, a little over half way there, allowing me to see some of the most remote scenery on the route, in the Hoosier National Forest. Much of what I saw was shrouded in mist.

I love the mist; it has so many forms. Sometimes it is localized, gathering in hollows, or rising off of a body of water, at others it is generalized across the landscape. It can be dense and a hazard to driving, or it can be light, just blurring the edges of things, or sometimes wispy, with tendrils slowly writhing amidst a dispersed haze. Yes, it moves, sometimes seeming almost alive. I like when it stratifies too, either separating into layers within the body of the fog itself, or rising as one leaving the air clear above and below it.

This morning the mist was heavily influenced by micro climactic conditions and all of these aspects were present at one time or another. In general it filled the hollows while the the hilltops were clear. One time, on a ridge above the town of English a vista opened revealing a rolling sea of fog with forested hilltop islands, like an archipelago. But that's too simple of a story because at another time I descended a steep winding road that went beneath the mist, which was then like a roof over the valley. I think that the only aspect of mist that I didn't see today was the way that it captures light because by the time that the sun actually rose I was in the clear.

It's kind of strange actually, now that I think about it, but when I got to Tell City there was barely a hint of mist. I was worried about time again and it being later I was plagued by all manner of delays that hadn't happened that earlier time through. With the morning traffic there were slowpokes, one going 10 mph below the speed limit and seemingly unconcerned that there was a looooooong line of cars behind him, there were school buses, and even an Amish horse and buggy, not to mention the fog itself.

I still got to the receiver a half an hour early, which is a half an hour before they open so I had a little time to kill. I was at their warehouse which is off of a little alley just the other side of the levy that protects the town. I moseyed around the edges of the property, looking into the woods and the cornfields. I stayed clear of the row of houses whose back yards lined the alley on the uphill side, other than to admire their laden vegetable gardens from afar. And I climbed onto the levy to survey the limited aspect of Tell City that that vantage allowed. Then I went back to the truck to do some paperwork.

I guess it was about ten till eight, their time, and I was anticipating that someone might arrive soon. I looked up from my task and was taken aback by a wall of fog massing above the levy and slowly creeping over it. The little hollow that I was in was already filling with mist. I climbed back onto the levy and the cityscape that I'd seen before was barely discernible; the low sun a pale disk. On my way back to my rig a pickup truck roared over the levy, out of the mist, and almost took me out (I exaggerate, but it was kind of like that). The workers had arrived, it was time to get to work.

I never noticed what happened to that fog. By the time the customer's stuff was unloaded the air was clear again. Traveling west along IN 66 toward my next stop there were massive puff-balls of cloud barely clearing the trees. I imagined the amoebic haze that had swarmed the levy was now one of those.