Leaving California is never easy, especially when you’re fifteen years old. The night before my father’s job moved my family to St. Louis, Missouri, we had dinner at the Charthouse in Malibu. It was a pink and orange sunset. Seagulls gathered, uttering mournful cries that to my teenage ears sounded like painful goodbyes. I watched a pelican dive into the Pacific, pursuing its dinner beneath the waves. I turned my attention back to my plate. The thought of leaving my home state and its beautiful wildlife to move to the frigid Midwest had all but killed my appetite. I looked back out the window and saw a small pod of dolphins playfully chasing one another. I wanted to cry.
The next day we arrived in St. Louis. A blizzard had fallen upon the city. The wind chill was 20 below. I sat in my new bedroom unpacking my belongings, thinking about all I had to leave behind. I had never seen a blizzard before. It wasn’t something I had ever wanted to see. The thought of starting over at a new school was painful. Even the landscape was foreign and uninviting. The trees were bare, the ground was covered in snow and there were no signs of life. In California, there was always a bird or a lizard or butterfly to be seen, but this place was a barren wasteland. It might as well have been Siberia.
After a fitful night’s sleep, I woke up early and went to the kitchen to have breakfast. The dishes were still packed. The house was cold and my anxiety began to rise as my thoughts turned to my new school then again back to California. I bet its 75 degrees in Los Angeles, I thought.
Out the window, I saw a sudden bright flash of red dart by. I got up to investigate.
Sitting upon a black wrought iron fence was a bright red bird with a black mask. Its contrast against the snow was stunning. Mesmerized, I sat and watched. The bird raised its crest, flicked its tail and let out a lovely melody:
Cheerily-cheerily-cheer-cheer-cheer
Suddenly I felt a little less alone.
Published by Los Angeles Audubon Society, Western Tanager Vol. 87 No. 1 Sep–Oct 2020.