“I drove down to the gate, and there was a solid fog just on the other side. I got out of the truck, opened the gate, and then I walked over to the fog, and touched it.” Michael’s face was red.
“Was it wet, like a cloud?” Uncle Hiram asked.
“It was like a wall! I’m telling you, it was solid!” He took a sip of coffee for a moment, trying to calm down.
“Then I got a three-pound hammer out of the truck and I beat on the wall. I didn’t even leave a mark. I know from here it looks like fog, but up close it looks like milky glass. But it’s solid! And you’ll notice that it goes completely around the farm. Whatever it is, we’re stuck inside it.”
All that day, the adults were in a tizzy, trying to assess the meaning and scope of their enclosure. The kids mirrored the adult concern.
No one could raise a signal on the radio. The television, spotty at best, was now just static. The telephone didn’t work, and even an old CB radio Uncle Hiram hooked up did not receive a response.
Finally Hiram told everyone to stop making a fuss and go on about their work. He said he would let them know when it was time to worry.
What could go wrong?
I call that being definitely fog-bound...