Fog

I was always told that one of the treats of being on the coast of Maine is the occasional foggy day. The foghorns are sounding and life slows (even more, if that is possible). As a kid, a fog day actually presented new adventures. Hide-and-seek became an entirely new game.

But there never was a fog "day." Heck, August was justifiably called the fog MONTH. So our games in the fog were expanded. For example, we would row our little boat furiously until we hit something (what fun!). The "something" was inevitably another boat (that we prayed didn't contain people waiting out the fog before continuing on their Down East cruise).

Our best fog story? We sailed out in a light fog and exhilarating breeze; as soon as we got outside the harbor, the fog got thick; as we came about THE TILLER BROKE. We could hear waves crashing upon the rocks nearby, suggesting we would soon be there. We pawed through the bilges looking for a piece of wood that could be used to replace the tiller. The sails were flapping like crazy, the surf surged.

Needless to say, we crashed onto the rocks and all aboard perished. Boy, do I hate fog.