Every morning is ideal in Hoquiam, Wash. (Except when it rains.)
This morning started cold. The grass in the field outside my apartment building was stiff with frost, which gleamed in the sun. The birds didn't seem to mind. They still greeted the day with song from Karr Hill, which caught the slanted light three blocks away.
Often, when I step out at first light, Karr Hill and its cover of evergreen trees, the birdsong, the hint of pine in the air – it all reminds me of waking up in a campground. This is especially true on a Sunday morning, when Lincoln Street (U.S. Highway 101) and the 7-11/Circle K competition a block away are devoid of the early morning rush.
I can walk a block down Karr Avenue in the shade of buildings, cross the street into the sun on 7-11 for my coffee (or lately, my Celsius), then cross Lincoln and in just another half block reach the Hoquiam River.
The sun like a spotlight beside Beacon Hill, beaming through the girders of Riverside Bridge. Mist drifting over the river bend, caught at the foot of the hill, slowly rising and dissipating. Or, even better, the sun wisping a mist off the surface of the water.
There we might hear the croak of a heron (and see its awkward-but-graceful flight from one bank to the next), the chitter of a kingfisher – or an otter, popping up with a mouthful of frog leg to chomp, chomp, chomp.
That's on a sunny morning. Of course it's an entirely different experience on rainy morning. Here on the coast in the Pacific Northwest, we have mild winters: 30-degree Fahrenheit mornings like today don't happen often. We usually get stuck in the 40-degree range (for weeks, it seems), and then it's overcast and raining. Then I'm hunkering down, hood up, while I scurry to 7-11. And my feet are getting wet, because of course I still insist on wearing my breathable 'boat' shoes (they're basically slippers).
But, even on a rainy morning, I can still enjoy a trip to the river. The Timberland Bank office building just across the gravel walk from my favorite spot has an overhang on the backside. I can sit underneath that out of the rain and still see Beacon Hill, the water, and Riverside Bridge.
Listen to the raindrops patter, the wind whispering in the evergreens. Watch the car lights and log trucks streaming over Riverside. Plan out the rest of my day.
Or just dream.
Mist shrouds Beacon Hill and rises from the river on an October morning
Riverside Bridge at 4:30 a.m. in July
Mist gathering at the river bend
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