If you look closely at the picture above, you may be able to see a layer of fog hugging the valley floor over the marshlands of western Cache Valley. For those of you familiar with the valley, you may have seen this numerous times. I lived in Cache Valley for a few months almost forty years ago. I never saw the fog. Then again, I never knew there was marshland on the west side.
Going to school at Utah State University for one quarter didn't allow me a lot of time to explore the region.
I had heard there was a road connecting Logan with Box Elder County on the north side, but...once again...I never saw the road, either.
My loss.
The first time I drove on the road was a year ago, shortly after moving north. There's a gentle rise as the road curves east. You pass Beaver Dam, then Petersboro, then the road turns again and the Cache Valley opens up below. The first time we saw it, it blew us away.
Twas the weekend before Christmas...and that's as far as I'm going to go trying to come up with new words to the classic poem. As self-contained as our valley is, there are things unobtainable here. We have to venture either due east, or southeast for supplies. And as parents, preparing for Christmas is a never-ending pursuit to "get everything done" before the big day. This year, we're doing okay, but there's always something we'll miss.
The layer of mist spread across the valley. The white mountains matched the cloud resting just feet above the water and grasses. It was beautiful.
We shopped and searched for things we need and things we don't necessarily need. By the time we drove west, the fog had disappeared, blended into the nearly frozen air above. I hope one day we'll be fortunate enough to see the mist again. Maybe next year...maybe on the weekend before Christmas.
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