A fog story

Stella here.
Fog!
Lookin' out th' winda I can't see th' island at all. Couldn't hardly even see th' end of th' road, let alone th' water.
Island? I know there's one out there... think I could even hear some surf breakin' there on th' rocks.
It's days like this I'm grateful Harvey ain't out lobsterin' on th' Betsy Ann no more. If he'd been out on a day like this I'd be frettin' somethin' awful till he'd get back in.

Deb's got a friend usta go kyackin' a lot. Maybe she still does.
Anyways, Deb tol' me once about th' time Luna (honest) an' some friends was out in their kyacks an' got caught in a wicked fog bank that come in all sudden-like.
They was paddlin' between a couple islands, an' one minute they could see where they was goin', next minute they couldn't see NOTHIN'!
Couldn't even see each other.
What to do?
Well, I guess they was pretty scared at first. But then one of 'em got th' idea o' hollerin' an' listenin' f'r th' echo t' come back.
An' that's what they did.
Kinda like radar, Harvey said, navigatin' by sound bouncin' back.
They all made it t' land, all t'gether. Camped out till th' fog lifted next mornin' an' they c'd see where they was.

Fog's somethin' that c'n catch y' unawares. An' it's scary if y're out on th' water.
I've always loved it, though (long's I ain't got somebody out in a boat)... ev'rything's so quiet an' peaceful. Water beads up on th' beach roses an' spider webs. Awful pretty!

We're havin' pea soup f'r supper.
Fog... pea soup... get it?
Love,
Stella