6am

It was the last morning of our last camping trip of the summer. She was worn out from a strong cocktail of teething, learning to crawl and to stand, and having adventures with our visiting family. Thus, on this out-of-sorts morning in the woods, she decided to wake at 6am (as opposed to her usual 7:30). 

I tried to nurse her back to sleep. It didn't work. I groaned. I thought about waking Papa to take her. I thought about pretending to sleep while she repeatedly whacked me with her flapping, ready-to-play arms. She whacked Papa too. He pulled his beanie further down over his eyes and tucked deeper under the blankets. 

She continued to flap, bounce, talk, and smile. I eventually accepted the early hour. What choice does one have, really? And who can resist a baby smile - no matter what hour it is? By 6:20am, I had packed a bag of toys, a blanket, and one more layer of wool for the baby. We walked to the beach and to one of the most beautiful, quiet mornings of my life. 

Naomi & I were the only people on the mystical, foggy beach except a long line of fishers that we could barely see in the distance. Little patches of islands, bridges, and mountains floated effortlessly in the fog that surrounded us - just enough to know it was there and to spark our imagination of what more we couldn't quite see. The water was gently stirred by the slow, choreographed work of commercial fishers who made their way to open sea. They pulled a net between them - a proper fishing boat and a tug boat of sorts. It was a scene you read about in books. Later that day, her Papa caught a silver salmon of his own on the same water. We brought it home to eat, and it was the first fish she's ever had. 

By 4pm on this beautiful day, I was ready to pass out from exhaustion from the early waking hour. But it was clearly worth sharing this other-worldly, pacific northwest scene with my babe that morning. We got to experience it for ourselves - the perfectly choreographed skill of the fishing boats; the heavy fog; the wet rocks and sand exposed as the tide went out; the cool, damp, saltwater air on our skin; the generous wave of the fishers passing by; connecting with the very water that brought her dinner the next night. What a gift. 6am was worth it.

 

I had never heard of a beach elf until I found this little one hiding in the rocks. I mean, look at that little ear, peeking out of her hat. Definitely a beach elf.