It's a codebreakers' Christmas! - The Chaff with Scott Stephenson

Unless you have been reading The Chaff with the kind of attention usually reserved for cereal ingredients and parking signs, this column may come as a surprise. Something has been happening all year, quietly, politely and with the sort of confidence that only comes from knowing nobody will notice until it is far too late. This was not a stunt. It was not a prank. It was a calm, orderly operation carried out in full view of everyone, which is historically the safest way to do anything.

 

Last year, The Chaff adopted a simple structural flourish. Every column began with a drop-cap letter. Not just any letter, but a letter progressing through the alphabet. A, then B, then C, all the way to Z. Having reached Z, the sequence politely turned around and went back the other way, because that felt like the neighbourly thing to do. This was not hidden. It was simply not advertised, which is a different and much more Canadian sort of secrecy. Anyone could have noticed. Few did, and fewer still felt the need to bring it up at parties.

 

This year, the drop-caps returned, still decorative, still helpful for people who like to know where a column begins. What changed was the purpose. Instead of marching up and down the alphabet, the first letters of the columns spelled out a sentence, one letter at a time, week after week, month after month. Taken together, the drop-caps spelled out, in full, “CONGRATULATIONS YOU HAVE CRACKED THE CHAFF CODE GOOD FOR YOU”.

 

The message was assembled slowly and methodically. No shortcuts were taken. The letters simply kept appearing, doing their jobs, minding their business and trusting that the right readers would eventually connect the dots. This is not unlike how most important systems function, including government forms and office coffee machines.

 

If you noticed early, you may have experienced a long, quiet year of certainty. You knew something was unfolding. You knew patience would be rewarded. You also knew there was absolutely no socially acceptable way to mention this without sounding insufferable. That restraint is appreciated. If you noticed late, possibly today, that is also fine. Discovery remains discovery, even when it arrives with an explanation attached.

 

This reveal is meant to congratulate those who read closely, those who suspected something was up and those who enjoy the idea that a column can be both exactly what it claims to be and something slightly more. The Chaff remains a dependable collection of thoughts, observations and firm opinions delivered with unnecessary confidence. It also, occasionally, hides a puzzle in plain sight, mostly to see if it can get away with it.

 

There is also a practical lesson here, which The Chaff would be remiss not to underline. Paying attention is still worthwhile. Patterns still exist. Not everything interesting announces itself with urgency or a headline. Sometimes it just shows up every week, wearing the same outfit, waiting to see who notices the stitching.

 

At some point during the year, this stopped being a code and became a lifestyle choice. The letters kept arriving on schedule, like a very patient woodpecker tapping out a message on the side of the paper, and we simply kept nodding along as if this were the most normal thing in the world. That is the real trick. Not hiding something, but letting it exist so plainly that it becomes invisible.
Once you are spelling out a sentence in public, there is no backing out without emotional consequences. Every new column carried the quiet pressure of spelling and grammar. A typo would not just be a typo. It would be a collapse of meaning, a grammatical sinkhole opening beneath us. The fact that this did not happen should be taken as proof that the universe, briefly and inexplicably, was on our side.

 

Most importantly, this entire affair confirms a long held suspicion. The Chaff is not read so much as it is monitored. It is checked on weekly, like a strange plant that no one remembers buying but everyone agrees should probably stay alive. In 2026, the plant will continue to grow. It may bloom. It may spell something else. Or it may simply sit there, photosynthesizing quietly, daring someone to look too closely. Either way, we will be here, pretending nothing unusual is happening at all.

 

As for what comes next, consider this a friendly invitation rather than a warning. The Chaff will return in 2026 with its usual commitment to seriousness, silliness and the quiet belief that readers are sharper than they let on. There may be another pattern. There may not. It would be irresponsible to promise either way. The only reliable method remains the same as ever. Keep reading, start at the beginning and trust that if something is going on, it will eventually tell you so.

 

Good for you, genuinely.