The Year of The Chat

Every garden has surprises. Some are just more noticeable in winter.

 Yellow-Breasted Chat rests on our chair

“A yellow-breasted chat?” Mike, my bird-seed supplier repeated. I had just posted a picture of it online. “What’s he doing here in January?”


I had no idea what he was doing here, nor did I know that he wasn’t supposed to be here. A cursory glance through my bird field guide showed this little warbler is normally in Virginia during warm weather. By now, he should be in Central America – or at least winging his way.


But instead, he’s here. In my garden, brightening this dull weather with his impish charm and stunning yellow waistcoat. I first saw him January 10^th and did not recognize him. He had the color of a goldfinch, the movement of a wren, and the eye of a robin. After some quick research I found he was a chat. A yellow-breasted chat.

"I've never seen one," Mike went on. "What's he eating?" Mostly suet cake and Bark Butter, I said. But he likes those fruit-and-nut cylinders too. 

Not only was it unusual for a chat to still be here in January, but even in the warmth of summer, you're more likely to hear one than actually see one. The Cornell Lab says that chats like to skulk in low, thick brush. Another site claimed they’re shy, singular, and move furtively among vegetation.

Shy and furtive? Really? Not this guy. While he may feel more at home in low, thick brush, he doesn't have a problem sitting out in the open: on garden pots, 

at the feeders, 

and more recently, up on our deck. 

He’s been showing up at least twice a day, every day for three weeks now. At first, the other birds (sparrows, finches, cardinals, woodpeckers) would clear out as soon as the chat flew in. I don’t know if they were being snobbish, or they understood this was unusual and wanted to give the chat his space. But gradually, as the days moved into weeks, the usual crowd accepted his presence.

“You’ve been chosen,” my girlfriend Melanie proclaimed. “What an honor!”

I don’t know why this happy chat is here in the cold weather, or how I got so lucky. Maybe he's gone rogue, broke from the flock, and decided to take winter in Fauquier County, Virginia. Whatever the reason, I’m grateful for his time. I'm old enough to recognize a treat when I see one. And just forgetful enough to know next year I'll appreciate anything I might write down today; to always remember that this was my Year of the Chat. 

Chat with a friend (look closely)

A Christmas Quirk? Or Quantum Prank?

This is the Christmas card my parents sent out circa 1960-1961. As far as any of us kids remember, this was the only time they sent one out that included a picture. 

Signed: "Shirley, Steve and the children

There’s nothing really remarkable about the card, even though the photo was taken in front of a neighbor’s fireplace because mom felt our fireplace wasn’t quite good enough and theirs was much better. Otherwise, it is a standard photo card of the day. 

Except there's one other tiny thing.

We grew up in the small town of Lafayette, California. It was a San Francisco bedroom community, but back then it was my entire world. I wasn't aware of much beyond the Bay Area. And that was fine when I was little.  

Jump forward 20 years: I enlisted in the US Air Force, was trained as a Russian Linguist, and shipped overseas to West Berlin. 

While stationed there I met this guy, Rex Bowman, also in the Air Force. Rex was from Roanoke, Virginia. 

Roanoke? Never heard of it. It was 3,000 miles from Lafayette, on the other side of the country. It could have been on Pluto for all I knew. But it didn't matter, Rex was smart, fun, and I loved him even though he played pranks on me. He'd hide my hairbrush, or pretend he forgot his wallet at restaurants. Goofy stuff like that. 

We got married in 1982, both eventually left the military, moved around, had kids, then happily settled in Rex’s hometown. Roanoke, VA.

Mom passed away in 2000 and I flew back to the west coast to help my sister, Pamela, go through mom's things and choose items with sentimental value. The Christmas card was tucked away among some paperwork. Pamela did not seem interested, but I was drawn to it. Not only did I love the photo of the four of us, but that retro greeting on the front was a hoot! So I brought it home to Virginia with me.

A few weeks later, I showed the card to a girlfriend at work. She looked at it, flipped it over, opened it up, and flipped it over again. 

      “Wait,” she said. “Did you grow up here in Virginia? I thought you grew up in California.”
      “I did. This photo was taken in California where we lived.” But before I could launch into my story of being dragged in front of our neighbor’s fireplace, she blurted out –
      “Look at the back. It says Roanoke.”

What? Why would it say Roanoke? I squinted and there it was in small print at the bottom: “Photocraft, Roanoke, VA.”

I had never noticed it before. 

Of all the thousands and thousands of towns in America, why would this card stock have been printed in Roanoke? 3,000 miles from Lafayette? On the other side of the country? The very same town where Rex grew up?

Did Rex do this? Did he -- or rather, will he -- manage to time travel long enough to prank me when I'm growing up? I've heard about time looping back on itself. Is that what this is? Is it a quantum prank? Or is it all just a happy coincidence and overactive imagination? 

I know what I believe. But you decide for yourself.

And Happy New Year.