From now on, when you see these white mists rising up from the woods in between the hills, you can know for sure what it means. It’s those clever foxes who’ve got their kettles boiling, getting ready to brew tea for their big fox feasts and dances. After all, if foxes can’t have tea parties and enjoy some fiddle music in the summer, what’s the point of living in this magical place? L.D. Bennett photo

Laura Dean Bennett
Staff Writer

Whenever I see white cloudy wisps rising up from the mountains and in between the tree-covered hills, I know that the foxes are brewing tea.

My mom was usually a no-nonsense, practical lady, but every once in a while, she did love to tell a tale.

When I was little, in fact, even when I was grown, this was always one of my favorites.

Sometimes, when the grass is green, the livin’ is easy, and and it’s been too rainy to hunt, the foxes decide it’s time for a get-together.

They invite all their relatives and neighbors for a big fox feast – for it is well known that foxes love a party, favor lively fiddle music and relish dancing a jig.

Their most favorite refreshment, favored even above warm milk, is fresh brewed tea.

And it takes a lot of tea to satisfy a gathering of thirsty, dancing foxes.

Why, one may ask, has no one ever seen the foxes’ parties nor heard their fiddle playing?

It seems we humans have no means to observe the foxes at their merriment, because foxes are one of God’s most magical creatures.

If they do not wish to be seen or heard, they are invisible and undetectable.

Some may also ask, in what do the foxes brew their tea and in what is it served?

That is easily answered.

They, of course, brew their tea in tea pots and drink it from cups held daintily on saucers.  

After all, they may be animals, but they are hardly uncivilized.

Now, for those with less imagination than my mother and me, it may seem clear that the rising “smoke” among the hills is a weather-related phenomenon – something scientific to do with temperatures or humidity.

And those who subscribe to the wisdom of the “old people” will say that it is a sure sign that “the rain is not done yet.”

But when I see the white clouds of steam rising up from over the hills and inside the woods, looking for all the world like steam from a kettle, I know the truth – the foxes are brewing tea.