sunrise animals
six days in a row isn't enough to call a habit a routine, but waking up for the sunrise is starting to feel like one.
I’ve always struggled to maintain routines1. Chalk it up to my bend towards novelty. I’m not an early riser, but I’m not a late sleeper—I fall somewhere in the middle, skewing more morning person.
Yesterday concluded the third annual Kaplan family trip to Hilton Head Island, SC. My husband and his siblings grew up going to the beach there with their parents, and returned for the first time in over two decades in 2024 with a new generation of family members to form core memories with on the Lowcountry shores. Our nephew is a few weeks shy of 6 and our niece is 3. The rhythm of the trip is geared towards the kids’ routines, with early morning starts on the beach, afternoon naps (for the 3-year-old, if she’ll allow it), and 5 PM dinners (6 PM latest).
In years past, my sister-in-law, her husband, and their kids would slip out of the house we all shared for a week undetected, cautious not to rouse the childless adults on vacation. The patriarch of the family, my father-in-law, sets up shop for us in a house basically on the beach (no more than a 3 minute walk); aside from the couple of minutes it takes to adequately apply sunblock2, we can practically roll out of bed and onto the beach.
I hadn’t been compelled to wake up for the sunrise in previous years—beach vacations feel like apt times for catching up on sleep. This year, though, I did. While very much in vacation mode, I had to work remotely for the time that I was in Hilton Head. It was a huge bummer, and I acknowledge the immense privilege in saying this. Fortunately, I was able to compartmentalize and be present, and I know those sunrise starts were crucial for doing just that.
Our first morning in Hilton Head was last Sunday, May 17. On the evening of the 18th, I decided that the subsequent day would be my day. On Tuesday, May 19, sunrise time in Hilton Head was around 6:29 AM, shifting incrementally earlier by a minute or two each day as we near the solstice. I set my alarm for 6 AM, dragging myself out of bed 10 minutes later. My husband, firmly in the late riser/night person camp, valiantly joined me. When we rolled up to the beach, our young family members were surprised and delighted to see us awake at the hour.
There was a whole society of people already up and at ‘em. Families on sunrise bike rides3; retired-age-looking folks walking dogs off leash, often in pairs; young kids, including the ones we’re related to, playing in tide pools or completing makeshift obstacle courses in the sand.
As the sun rose above the horizon, everyone stopped what they were doing to greet the day. Bikers halted and dismounted; dogs ran from all corners of the beach to approach the shoreline; some people took out their phones, and others took it all in device-free. Watching the colors of the sky change in a dance of blue, pink, and orange, I felt hopeful. On the Lowcountry coast at dawn, it was easy to forget the ills of the world.
Some of these people and animals became fixtures of our sunrise beach outings. Most notable among them was Elsie, a 12 or 13-year-old white-faced Vizsla who walked the beach with her dad and younger brother (also aVizsla) every morning. Elsie’s disposition reminded me much of my dog Latke’s in that neither of them act as though they’ve ever met a stranger. She’d greet just about any human she passed by off leash, wagging her tail both effortlessly and with all her strength, panting her mouth into a smile. As pure as the sunshine we rose to greet each morning, on our last day on the beach Elsie gave us kisses, leaning into us the way big dogs (though she’s more of a medium size) are prone to do. I’ll probably be thinking about Elsie long after other details of the vacation fade into the recesses of my memory.
By the time I reluctantly logged online to work, I had already had a 3 or 4-hour day. Some mornings I simply sat on a towel and watched the sunrise, then opted to read4 in our home’s screened-in porch when the sun started to feel too hot on my back. Other mornings I walked the beach, getting in adequate steps before eating breakfast. On one of the mornings I rolled out of bed, I didn’t have a bathing suit on, but sprinted into the ocean when I saw my niece and nephew going deeper into the water with their parents and my husband than I’d seen previously. I ripped my bra from under my t-shirt and darted into the ocean in workout leggings, not a care in the world other than making sure I met the fleeting moment.
This morning, I woke up in my home in Denver, not a shoreline in site. I didn’t set an alarm, but woke up early with my body clock still likely on Eastern Time. When I peeked my eyes open just before 5:45, I could already see the morning golden hour taking shape. Turns out the sunrise time today here was 5:38, over 40 minutes earlier than yesterday’s in Hilton Head. With a crisp morning temperature of 47 degrees (with a high of 81 today, because that’s mountain living for you!), I threw on sweatpants and sweatshirt to take in what I could of the sunrise on my roof. It also didn’t occur to me that my roof is not exactly in a prime location for sunrise viewing; the views are predominately northern and western facing, making sunset more impressive. I still managed to catch the tail end, watching the sun glow from the east and the way the light reflected off of the skyscrapers to the north. The foothills of the Rockies also looked beautiful and stoic as they always do, the sky cloudless and visibility crystal clear.
With the urgency of seeing the sunrise behind me, I brought my dogs onto the roof with me. They were the only things missing from an otherwise near perfect family vacation and sunrises on the Carolina coast. Spud, the baby of the two, was rather disruptive as I tried to finish the last 10 pages of Upward Bound, which I eventually did inside on the living room couch. Outside, Spud stuck has chin in the air, feeling the early morning breeze, and Latke nestled into my lap, both assuming their usual positions.
Six days isn’t long enough to call a habit a routine, but I’m hoping to continue my sunrise wake-ups for as many days as I can, with both of my dogs—and maybe some of those days, my husband—by my side. I’ll be thinking about the early morning beach outings, Elsie, and the other sunrise animals we encountered until next time.
My father-in-law is a dermatologist, brother-in-law is a pediatrician, and sister-in-law is a PA. This family understands the importance of sunblock.
In Hilton Head, the sand is packed down from the shifting tides, and people are actually permitted to ride on the beach.
The books I read on vacation were Lena Dunham’s memoir Famesick Woody Brown’s debut novel, Upward Bound. Please note, both of these links are from my affiliate account on bookshop.org. If you purchase either book from these links, a portion of the proceeds will go to Allie’s Book Cart, my pop-up bookstore making its IRL debut on June 5.