Fog again. This is the fourth morning in a row, Scott grumbled to himself. Tule fog, they called it. He was tempted to call it something else, since there were no ladies within earshot. He couldn't see his hand in front of his face, never mind the horses in the corral. He loved most things about his new life in California, but this fog was definitely on the debit side of the ledger, as his grandfather would say. And there'd be three months more of it! He was almost tempted to go back to Boston for Christmas, after all.
This fog is for sure not my idea of fun, thought Johnny. Can't see a thing and the damp just seeps through you. And no knowing how long it'll last. Sometimes it'll lift by mid-morning, sometimes it hangs around all day. But we still gotta get the chores done and get the cattle moved, even if we can't see the cattle we're moving! Why did Murdoch have to settle here, he coulda got a nice spread further south, down towards Mexico, where we'd have beautiful weather...
Jelly rubbed his hands together for warmth as he headed for the barn. Sure am glad I got a nice, comfortable place here on Lancer, he thought. He was even more glad that all his boys were in warm, safe homes. He remembered back to the winter they'd spent in that shack further down the valley. The damp fog had settled on them and hadn't lifted for days on end. The boys were all coughing somethin' terrible and he'd been scared they'd end up with consumption. Thank the Lord they were all living in good warm houses now.
Murdoch looked out at the thick blanket of fog that covered the valley. He was glad, as he was every winter, that he'd settled here. This fog was the worst weather they got, and it was nothing, really. He recalled the bitter winters of his childhood in Scotland and shuddered. And the tales he'd heard about winter in Oregon - fourteen feet of snow! He was glad he'd resisted the urgings of some of his friends to go there. No, when it came to weather, the San Joaquin must be the best place in the world, he thought.
Teresa came in from the foggy barnyard and hung up her shawl. Time to start getting ready for Christmas, she thought, and smiled. That's what her father had always said when the fogs started setting in. Born and raised in the San Joaquin, she'd never given much thought to the Tule fog, it was just part of winter, and she laughed at the boys' grumbling. They complained about the fog but they never complained about the Christmas baking. And the one went with the other, on Lancer. She'd make some spice cookies this afternoon, that would cheer them up. She must get some dried fruit from the storeroom, too, and start on the Christmas cakes.
And the fire in the Great Room was never so welcoming as when it drove away the chill of the Tule fog.