Echoes of Appalachia

Every August, as the early morning mist settles over the valleys and the sun begins to rise behind the ridgelines, some Appalachian families start counting fogs. Not because they are keeping track of weather for its own sake, but because each fog means something. One fog, one bean in a jar. And by the end of the month, that jar filled with a tally of misty mornings holds a kind of forecast. Not for September, but for the winter to come.

This practice, often known simply as “beans in the jar,” is one of the oldest and most widespread traditions for predicting snowfall in the Appalachian Mountains. Each day in August that begins with morning fog earns a bean in the jar. The count at the end of the month is said to reveal how many snows will fall during the coming winter. Some people get more specific. A thick fog might mean a big snow, while a light one could suggest just a dusting. The key is consistency. Watching the same spot each day, recording it faithfully, and relying on decades, sometimes generations, of local memory to compare.

While modern meteorology might not endorse the method, there is a certain intuitive logic to it. Fog in August reflects humidity and overnight cooling, which are subtle indicators of how moisture and air currents are behaving. Locals who have paid attention for decades insist the beans do not lie. They do not just see it as folklore, but as a proven seasonal rhythm and a living memory of the mountain climate’s patterns.

But fog-counting is only the beginning. Across the region, Appalachian people have long relied on a whole body of natural signs and traditional wisdom to prepare for winter. These are not random superstitions. They are observations honed over time, often blending practical experience with a deep reverence for the natural world. From insects and animals to trees and clouds, many pieces of the natural puzzle are believed to offer hints.

One of the most watched creatures is the woolly worm, also known as the woolly bear caterpillar. Its fuzzy black and brown bands are said to predict how severe the winter will be. A mostly black caterpillar warns of deep cold, while more brown suggests a milder season. Some interpretations divide the worm’s body into segments that align with months, with the coloration indicating the severity of each. Though scientists say the coloring may be more about age or species variation, mountain families still search for woolly worms every fall with the same focus meteorologists give a barometer.

Squirrels also offer clues. An early and intense gathering of acorns and hickory nuts is often seen as a sign that a hard winter is coming. The placement of their nests, whether higher up in the trees or lower down, may also serve as a clue. High nests suggest heavy snow and deep cold, while lower nests indicate a less severe season. And if the squirrels seem especially fat, quick, and anxious, many take that as an omen that snow will come early and last long.

The persimmon seed is another beloved Appalachian weather prophet. In early fall, locals will harvest wild persimmons and split open their seeds. Inside, they look for a tiny shape: either a spoon, a fork, or a knife. A spoon-shaped pattern means shovels will be needed for heavy snow. A knife predicts cutting, icy winds. A fork suggests a mild winter with light snow. The tradition is often carried out at fall festivals and community gatherings, and for many families, it is as much a seasonal ritual as carving pumpkins.

Other signs are more subtle. Thick corn husks, for example, are taken as a sign that nature is preparing for bitter cold. If onions grow with more layers than usual, it might be time to stockpile firewood. Some people swear by the shape of spider webs. Extra-large webs, or those spun close to the ground, might mean snow is on the way. Hornets’ nests high up in trees are another red flag for a rough winter. And then there is the moon. A ring around the moon, especially in the fall, is said to signal precipitation within a few days. Count the stars inside the ring, and you will know how many days until the next snow or storm.

These methods are not just quaint remnants of the past. They are still used today, sometimes with a bit of skepticism, but often with genuine trust. In rural areas where winter weather can isolate communities, these signs are part of practical preparation. Knowing when to gather in the last of the garden, insulate the windows, or stack the woodpile can be crucial. And when roads might be impassable for days, getting it wrong can mean more than just discomfort.

But beyond utility, these traditions represent something deeper: a relationship with place. They are born of a time when people lived closer to the land, when survival depended not only on tools and labor but on careful observation. A foggy morning was not just beautiful. It meant something. The way birds flew, how thick a dog’s coat got, the number of crickets heard at dusk. These were not just curiosities. They were information.

Today, weather apps and radar maps offer precise forecasts, but they do not replace the kind of knowledge that comes from watching your own sky. For many Appalachian people, it is not about whether the beans are always right. It is about the act of paying attention. Counting fogs, cracking open persimmon seeds, and watching woolly worms is not just about weather. It is about continuity. It is about participating in something older than oneself, rooted in family, place, and tradition.

Even as climate patterns shift and mountain winters change, these signs remain. They evolve, adapt, and continue to shape the way many Appalachians move through the year. The fog may rise differently now than it did a century ago, but the jar on the shelf still fills, one bean at a time.

So now that August has arrived and the hollers are beginning to fill with morning mist, it is time to get started. Keep an eye on the fog, drop a bean in the jar for each day it appears, and let the mountains speak. This simple act connects you to generations who watched the same skies and trusted the same signs. Whether or not the winter turns out harsh, you will have taken part in a tradition that grounds the future in the wisdom of the past.

-Tim Carmichael