Still reporting, now with a rucksack

If you saw the front page, then yes, it is true. I have officially been deployed to Washington, D.C.

While I cannot speak on the mission or the specifics of what we are doing, I can confirm that this editor in camo is slightly out of county and officially reporting for duty. Reporting. Because I am a reporter. I will let that joke stand on its own.

I am writing this at 5 a.m. Thursday morning, which feels right. I like being up before everyone else. It is quiet. It is calm. I can knock out some pushups, crack open an energy drink that probably has ingredients I cannot pronounce, and ease into the day before the world starts moving. There is something sacred about that hour. No phones ringing. No formation yet. Just a little time to wake up and think.

I left home Sunday and went straight into packing mode. The instructions were clear. One duffle. One assault pack. That is it.

Tell me why I showed up the next day and saw people hauling full size suitcases, extra green duffles, and what appeared to be the entire camping aisle of a sporting goods store. I barely fit the official packing list into my two approved bags. Turns out there were four different packing lists circulating, with the official official one not released until Wednesday. Days after I had already arrived and completed in processing.

So that was comforting.

We all took a bus down Sunday. I left feeling excited for the future and also like I broke my own heart in the process. Truthfully, I am already homesick for Lincoln County. I hear a song and can see the stretch of highway between my house and Davenport. I can practically taste Das Kraut Haus in Odessa. I can picture the landmarks rolling past when you drive through Reardan on your way to anywhere. There is something about home that sticks with you.

But this is good for me. I volunteered. Growth just happens to come with paperwork and government issued waiting.

The past few days have been in processing, which is a professional way of saying standing in lines, filling out forms, and waiting for someone to call your name. There was one exciting break in the routine. We went to the range to qualify on the M17. I am proud to report that I shot a 26 out of 30. I will now be accepting congratulations in the form of coffee gift cards.

The range started chilly and cold and somehow got worse. I do not understand the science of that, but I experienced it personally. C’mon Boise. Stop snowing. I beg you. The wind was relentless. My fingers were reconsidering their loyalty. And yet there we stood, committed to excellence and trying to feel our hands again.

I have made some quick friends here, including a few I will be heading to D.C. with who are also from my armory back in Lewiston. Seeing familiar faces makes a world of difference.

I also met someone with the last name Fairchild. In Lincoln County that name means one thing. I am still resisting the urge to ask if he is related to the base.

It is unclear when we depart again. Bags will be in hand. Jump seats will be filled. And eventually, I will carry everything back home with me.

Until then, know that I miss you, Lincoln County. I miss the roads, the food, the landmarks, the familiarity. But I am here, doing something that matters, even if I cannot write the lede on it just yet.

Consider this your field report from your friendly neighborhood editor in camo.

— Olivia Harnack is the editor at the Lincoln County Record-Times. You can reach her at 509-725-0101.

Author Bio

Olivia Harnack, Managing Editor

Olivia Harnack is the award-winning managing editor/photographer/videographer/columnist at the Lincoln County Record-Times, with offices in both Davenport and Odessa, Wash. She is a University of Idaho graduate and a U.S. Army National Guardsman.