The Chicken Cheats

Several summers ago, I went on getaway weekend to Arcola, Illinois. The biggest attraction there was Rockome Gardens, which was basically a theme park about Amish culture. [Sadly, this attraction closed.] There were the actual gardens, which may have been pleasant except for the photographer parent trying to get a perfectly posed shot of his two-year-old. “Kayla, come over here. No- stand right here. Don’t move. Now look at me. Kayla, look at Daddy. Kayla. Kayla! Look at Daddy. Kaaaaylaaa. Kayla, turn this way. Look at me. Look at Daddy. Kayla, look over here. Look at Daddy. Kayla. Look at Daddy.” There was a museum, a barn with farm animals, a woman who demonstrated weaving on a floor loom (and who let me try it), and a souvenir shop filled with canned green beans, homemade fudge, and other old-fashioned edibles. I paid extra to take a buggy ride with an actual Amish driver. It was here that I played tic tac toe with a chicken. Yes, the chicken won. Twice. I knew it would. But let me tell you something: the chicken cheats.

The game was in a box about the size of a vending machine. Half of it displayed the electronic gameboard and instructions, and the other half housed a live chicken. The poor thing was panting in its little plexiglass enclosure. Part of me didn’t want to participate (and encourage housing chickens in plexiglass boxes during summer). But when would I get another chance to play tic tac toe with a chicken? Novelty won in the end.

I fed my money into the machine. The rules state that the chicken goes first. Once the game started, the chicken hid behind this partition, but I was spying on it to see how it operated. It would peck at this button until a kernel of corn dropped down a chute. The chicken’s move would register on the gameboard. After gobbling up the corn, the chicken would peek its head underneath the partition and stare at me with one eye until I pushed a button to make my selection on the gameboard. Then its head would disappear underneath the partition and the pecking would start again. On the second game, after the chicken made its first move, I put my finger out toward the game board, but I hesitated. As I was deciding which button to press, the chicken took another turn. She probably didn’t cheat intentionally. Oh, well- she would have won anyway. [The strategy of having the chicken go first is orchestated so that the best an opponent can do is tie.] If you ever get the chance to play this game, be warned! Those chickens will try to get away with anything!

Photo: twined rug

Fling the Chicken

My mom lives a five-hour drive from me. Sometimes, on long weekends, we’d meet halfway for an Adventure Weekend. Usually, we’d stay in a cheap motel in some town that’s a tiny dot on the map, surrounded by a lot of space. We’d spend our days exploring the area and visiting other tiny towns nearby.

It was one Memorial Day weekend that we discovered Princeton, Wisconsin’s annual Rubber Chicken Fling. The event takes place in the city park. A goal post is set up, and everyone in attendance is invited to try flinging a rubber chicken through it. Whoever throws it farthest wins.

The emcee kept urging us to join the action. “If you’ve never chucked a chicken, now’s your chance!” The mascot, a man dressed in a bedazzled Elvis jumpsuit and a chicken head rubber mask, mingled with the crowd. We had dozens of chances, and neither of us touched a chicken. Why not?

My regrets are all the same: a long list of things I didn’t do, things I didn’t say.

Months ago, when I began seriously forming the idea of a nation-wide road trip, I thought about what the purpose would be. I didn’t want to just stay in hotels and visit tourist attractions; I wanted to experience a transformation. One day, an answer suddenly came to me: Fling the chicken.

It’s the same advice I’d give my younger self: Get involved. Try everything. Go everywhere. Take every opportunity. Fling that chicken while you’ve got the chance!