It has been blowing hard for five days, though the winds are warm. Several palm fronds crashed in the yard. But the good thing about this fierce wind – we don’t hear the roosters. They must be hunkered down, or the wind is carrying their noise away from us. Either way, it is a nice reprieve. But where are the inspectors from the Planning Department? I haven’t heard anything from them. I dropped off those complaints two weeks ago. I’m going to have to call them.
Wednesday my husband asked me, “What’s your Plan B? What if the chicken lady does something crafty like hiding her chickens when the zoning inspectors come over?” Hide the chickens – seven roosters and 20 or so hens? Clearly he’d been drinking too much coffee that morning.
He continued: “Why don’t you become a community activist?” Like starting a petition for stronger chicken regulations? “No, like starting a Honoka’a Rooster Rodeo and Round-up Festival. The purpose would be to round up as many free-running chickens as possible – more points for roosters. You could invite the cowboys from Waimea to show off their lassoing skills. Just picture them proudly bringing in squawking roosters to the judging booth, all vying for the prize of Biggest Rooster Catch, or Loudest Rooster Catch, or Rooster with the most Hens in his Harem, or Most Annoying Rooster Catch.” Yup, too much coffee.
But he wouldn’t let this idea go. Every time he came down to get more coffee, he’d spin the idea out some more. “And every festival needs food. You could get vendors to make chicken katsu, chicken corn dogs, chicken Musubi, huli chicken, and fried chicken. Maybe Stacy would do a booth with her famous Chicken Caesar Salad for the health conscious.” That’s just the kind of thing Stacy would do.
“You could even have games of Chicken Poop Bingo.” What’s that? “Imagine a Bingo grid on a floor covered by a cage. People buy a card representing one of the squares. You put a chicken in the cage over the grid. The person with the card representing where the chicken first poops on the grid, wins.” Where on earth do you dream this stuff up? “Oh, that was in a feature article in the Wall Street Journal. It’s typically played in rural bars.” It sounds like the WSJ is desperate for articles. “There’s even a FB page for it.”
“Of course you’d have to have a way to officially open and close the festival. How about The Chicken Dance? It’s sort of like a hula – tells a story through motion.”
“Yeah, similar to the story-dancing that the Japanese Bon Dancers performed at the Honoka’a Peace Festival this year. But it might be hard to find a polka band to play the music,” I mused Wait, he was suckering me in!
“But the free running chickens don’t have clipped wings. They will fly right over the circle.”
“Yeah, but someone will eventually get them. When a team grabs the rooster, they win something.”
“Free eggs?” Way too much coffee.
After about his fifth visit downstairs, when he started ranting about chicken races with Barbie Dolls in cowboy outfits stuck on the backs of chickens, I decided that the constant rooster crowing had finally made him go crazy, for real. Poor man, stuck in a world of roosters in his neighborhood and in his head…
On the other hand, it doesn’t seem to take much to start a festival around here. Or we could make it a part of Western Week, an already established festival in Honoka’a. We’d even have something for chicken activists. We could give away any hens caught to those who raise and keep chickens on agriculture land. Of course, they would have to provide proof that they had ag land. And the families around here that eat chickens could have all the roosters – for free.
So I asked Mitch and Dianne how hard it would be to grab a chicken and stick a Barbie doll on its back. Funny, neither one asked why I wanted the information. Mitch said it would be near impossible. Dianne’s daughter, Lynn, sent me a picture of what she thought came close – something she photographed sight-seeing around the island. Obviously this part of the concept needs more work.
Hum. Maybe I’ve had too much coffee, or maybe this cold I have has made me delirious.
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