“I’m sick of the fog,” my walking buddy said as we skimmed through the night air.
The street lights had halos, but we could see a good distance down the way and noticed neighbors walking their dogs on the opposite sidewalk.
This didn’t seem like fog to me. This was more like mist. On a night like this, a low-lying cloud is soft on your skin, enveloping in a good way.
“I like it,” I said, walking briskly like we always do. “It’s normal weather for winter, like winter used to be 15 years ago, before we had droughts every other year.”
“I moved here 15 years ago, so I don’t remember normal,” my friend said. “I’m just tired of not seeing the sun.”
There’s no arguing someone’s personal taste about the weather, nor nitpicking semantics.
We like what we like.
I’ve heard complaints about the beaches of Northern California — too cold, some say. I get sunburned on a warm beach with wide open sand, and I hate sunburns.
I’ll take Fort Bragg, where you can hear a good foghorn, the notes holding in the air like a good blues song. Along the rocky coast the air is so thick it casts the world in shades of gray. On a cold beach you feel the sting of the mist on your cheeks, a reminder that you are outdoors and very much alive.
Maybe I like Northern California because it’s what I know.
My family lived in Bencia, a small town between the Delta and San Pablo Bay. Our house was on the highest hill. The view often included a blanket of fog.
My older sister would fuss with her hair each morning, a silly ritual. By the time we reached the fog belt, our hair would twist and frizz every which way. I learned to wear my hair pulled back in a single barrette.
Winters of my youth included “real fog,” I thought as I walked with my friend on that night.
I didn’t argue with her, but I went home and googled the difference between fog and mist:
• Visibility in mist is more than 1 kilometer
• In fog your visibility is more limited
My Google AI response: Fog is like a cloud, all-around. Mist is a “lighter veil” that clears up quickly.
My work team picked up 22 teachers from 21 countries at the Sacramento airport this week. The visitors will be in California for six weeks. Before their journeys across the globe, I sent pictures of foggy Chico streets. We warned them not to expect California of their Tiktok videos. Chico is surrounded by almond orchards. They should pack sweatshirts and rain ponchos.
Yet, the image of California etched in their brains cannot be washed away with words, and perhaps only by mist in the air.
“I didn’t expect it to be this cold,” our man from Peru said. It was 32 degrees Celsius when he packed his sun hat for the trip to sunny California.
I can’t expect everyone to love Northern California on first sight. My goal is that by the time they return to their home countries, they will love their memories of this time and place.