Discover Walla Walla

It was a chilly fall morning in Walla Walla.  At six a.m. I donned my jogging pants, thick socks, and a jacket, tied my jogging shoes, and slipped quietly out the front door.  The yard, still shaded from the morning sun by my house and a few yellowing trees, crunched under my steps.  My shoes left footprints in the frosty grass.

I took a deep breath of the autumn air and thought to myself that although it was cliché, it was true - the air was crisp.  It was probably 20 degrees outside, and though it was a weekday, there were surprisingly few people up and about that early.

As I worked up to a slow jog, I plotted my path for the morning.  I had started walking and jogging only a couple of months prior, and was up to about a two-mile loop.  I enjoyed morning walks the best; it was quiet and somehow inspirational. 

My route took me across one of the busiest roads in town, past some well-manicured lawns and browning flowerbeds, along a gurgling roadside creek, and past an apartment I'd lived in just after college. 

As I looped around and headed home, I approached a recycling truck.  A man hopped out of the driver's side and reached for a blue bin on the sidewalk.  He was wearing a wool cap with flaps to cover his ears, and matching gloves.  They were the ones with the fingers cut off and mitten-type covers that stuck with Velcro to the back of his hands when he didn't want them covering his cold fingers.

He started dropping items in his truck: glass bottles, plastic containers, newspapers, pop cans, and shredded paper.  As I began my cool-down walk, he glanced up and saw me.  Smiling, he nodded in my direction.

"It's sure not warm out this morning!" he offered.  I agreed, and said I'd heard on the radio it was supposed to be in the teens most of the week.  Laughing, he shuddered and turned to place the blue bin back on the sidewalk.  As he pulled himself back into the driver's seat, he raised his hand and nodded again.  "Stay warm!" he called.  I smiled back and said, "You too!"