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EDITOR'S COMMENTARY
The Natural
by Karen Tuininga
How I love to hear a
train distantly coming along the tracks... now,
I guess that I know why. As a military brat
confined to bases, until my father retired to
the valley in 1972, I cannot recollect a single
rumble or whistle. My only experience had been a
thirty minute Chicago commuter in 1974. Today, I
can compare it to the first time I flew in an
airplane.
Later, I happened to wandering around the woods
at my parent’s cabin on the Pend Oreille River
and felt a vibration in the earth. Ten feet away
from me a freighter roared by, shaking me to my
bones. From my home I could hear the midnight
train cruising through, somewhere. The sound
comforted me. The sound intrigued me. I longed
to jump aboard and travel.
Having known very little, and nothing positive,
about lost Hillyard, I found a way to come see
for myself on the advice that some day Hillyard
would be the place to BE. The bustle among the
beautiful vintage buildings is what got me
seventeen years ago. Walking my dog around the
ghost of the Hillyard rail yards made me aware
of the energy, the life, the significance. The
traces now sinking into the ground. The
artifacts. The history. And the fact that the
city of Spokane has ignored Hillyard for so long
that they didn't come around and tear everything
down.
Maybe there isn't any wonder that an outsider
might become passionate with Hillyard, having
experienced the passion of Hillyard. Choosing to
live Hillyard.
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