Most people don’t like fog. Some say it makes them feel gloomy. Others find it scary, but no one bothers to ask the garden.

If they did, even the annuals would join in with praise. Fog is the garden’s friend. It hides harsh sunlight for awhile, offering a break, and gives a delicate feathery dusting of moisture that isn’t quite rain.

I love morning fog, nature’s extra gentle hug. It gives the gardener a break and often stops to remind us of how easily things can slip away. One moment there, not even a shadow the next. Heart-stopping poppies that appear like a blaze on a hillside are suddenly gone.

Dozens of dark blue lupines living beneath a large oak disappear along with the tree. We are cast adrift like the garden, and wait for sunlight to bleed the fog from our vision. We need our bearings.

Don’t be fooled by the fog’s shroud. We still have to remember to water our garden if it hasn’t rained enough. The fog is a tease and what she covers is only part of the garden, part of us. The invisible roots and that world underneath depend on us and cannot be ignored by our lack of interest. If we remain blind to what the fog cannot reach, our garden will seem less alive and become less interested in us. She’ll show us the door. We must protect our garden once we create her, no matter its size, and maintain our vigilance, even when nature seems to have abandoned us.

Even an old wooden cheese box filled with seeds waiting to sprout deserves our best. Welcome the fog as a sacred offering.