xt7jh98zct60_12 https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt7jh98zct60/data/mets.xml https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt7jh98zct60/data/2015ms086.dao.xml Bevins, Martha 0.05 Cubic Feet 55 items archival material 2015ms086 English University of Kentucky The physical rights to the materials in this collection are held by the University of Kentucky Special Collections Research Center.  Contact the Special Collections Research Center for information regarding rights and use of this collection. Martha Bevins letters to Tom McCarthy Radio broadcasting. Agriculture -- Kentucky. Birds Women air pilots. 1956 November 14 text 1956 November 14 2016 https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt7jh98zct60/data/2015ms086/Box_ms_42/Folder_1/Item_12/1956_11_14_Bevins_Morning_Fog_p1.pdf 1956 November 14 1956 1956 November 14 section false xt7jh98zct60_12 xt7jh98zct60 I
Morning View Kentucky
14 November 1956 '
Hello, Mr. McCarthy,
I must admit I didn‘t listen to your program the morning after
election day. I didn't listen to anything. as the first light seeped
through the fog I went out amid the big trees and stayed there
severalahours. Ordinarily, I rather enjoy the embattled uproar of a
presidential campaign; but this One left me so overwhelmed somehow --
so thoroughly talked to —- that I wearily declared a moratorium on
words. Not until Saturday afternoon when I had three separate,
simultaneous football games emerging from two radios and the tv set,
did I return to normal.
Truthfully, I probably would have missed your post—election program
anyhow, for it was early apparent that the mist drifting thnaugh the
tree patch might develope into an edge-of-the—world fog, and such a
fog is too infrequent and too strangely exhilarating to be ignored.
I doubt that I can adequately describe this fog condition and the
sensation it imparts. I am not at all sure of the factors involved
in the suddenly Just right combination of light, of barely moving
mist, of the great, half-shrouded trees, of the gentle slope of
the tree patch tOWard the back fence, and the sudden sharp falling
away of open ground thence into the little valley. I only know that,
' for a few brief moments as I move slowly toward the back fence, it

is on the very rim of nothing, that the little valley and the hills
beyond have dissolved into emptiness, and I am within a few feet
of the edge-of-the—edge—of —the-world. It is as though I were
standing on one of those ancient pro-Columbus maps which depict
ocean or land abruptly terminating in sharp~edged Space wherein
weird monsters float.
While Waiting for the anticipated fog conditions, I walked about to
the feeders, the formerly crisply boisterous leaves drenched to
silence beneath my step. Moisture dripped softly from eVery twig, and
those trees still retaining their leaves sent small, individual
showers to the ground beneath the span of their branches. It was
very quiet, as birds and little animals are apprehensively silent
in fog, fearing to reveal their presence to unseen approaching
predators. nowever, as I walked, a little disk of security accompanied
me, my arrival encouraging the birds to slip from hiding for food
and even to call in subdued tones.
The dogs, I noticed, shared the apprehension to some degree, being
exceedingly alert as they padded along with the silence of panthers.
One, after listening carefully for a moment, barked in the direction
of the unseen pond-field, the shock waves of his deep voice bringing
down an intensified shower from the sodden oak under which I stood.
Presently one dog discovered an interesting scent, and away they
quietly marched in siggle file over the wet, bright leaves, following
the meandering trail like little trolleys on unseen rails, or beads
sliding along an invisible wire. Caboose-Wise the puppy brought up
,the rear With great dilligrnce, Save at such times when he stepped

 ' V
on a little stick lying beneath the leaves and hurled himself at
the stir in the leaves several feet aWay, caused, of course, by
the movement of the other end of the stick, but to him a possible
meadow mouse or shrew.
I followed to make sure they didn't catch anything, and we finally
arrived at an old sassafras log, upon whose open end a few hairs
indicated a possum within. I knew he Was safe far inside the log
and would stay there, so, after warning the dogs not to bark into
the opening and deafen the poor beast, I left them biting and
scratching harmlessly at the log, all the while singing happily
to themselves.
It Was lighter now and I returned to the area where the rim-of-the-
world sensation is to be found. It looked promising. The mist Was
not too dense, which destroys the illusion of space, yet it Was deep
vertically so that its color Was a nameless grey rather than cottony
While I waited, I looked about at the trees, their great trunks
blurred yet somehow magnified by the fog, and remembered forest
pictures I had loved in a long-ago book of fairy tales. The stories
in the book I had scorned, finding the characters meekly stupid
souls. I am glad I didn't fall under the infnuence of those tales,
for they were horrors of frustration wherein the victims Wandered
through endless obstacles in enchanted forests, through which good

’ fairies were whisked by teams of larks and evil ones rode behind
harnessed toads Which spat poison. I am sure any youngster taking
them seriously would have been a disturbed soul forever. But the
many forest pictuees, by someone named Dore , were wonderful. I
tore them from the book and kept them for years.
Without warning the wonderful moment arrived. Beyond the edgeof
the tree patch Was nothing, absolutely nothing. The solid earth out
there had ceased to exist —- it simply was not. Beyond the fence
lay only depth, illimitable depth that extended into forever. The
ground itself felt insecure beneath my feet as though about to
crumble and fall endlessly through the void.
Then it was gone. Some slight intensifying of the light —— a faint
thickening of the mist -- something ended it. I Was once more just
standing in die tree patch on a foggy morning. I Waited but the
moment was not repeated. It never seems to return on the Same day.
I have been at sea in a little boat in dense fog, have flown through
heavy clouds, but neither showed the slightest indication of the
spell cast by the rim-of-the—world mist in fine tree patch. Product
of an excessively active imagination perhaps, but it is a magnificent
experience, one to treasure always.
Reluctantly admitting my soggy condition -— wet feet, wet hair, the
rough wool of my coat wearing a silvery film of beaded moisture, I
called the dogs and returned to the very earthly protection and warmth
of the house.