The annual event sometimes known as the festival-with-feathers was due to kickoff on Saturday. Hubs sez to me, “Don’t ya think we should go this year?”

An opportunity to view and ooh-and-aah over animals has never been high on my list. Unless, of course, George and Gracie (our twin, white kitties) are the center of it all and those two fuzzies would have no part of it all.

Another thing – fresh in my memory was last year’s visit to the zoo and my brief acquaintance with Jack. No one should ever have to meet Jack.

“Wanna meet Jack?”

It was a friendly voice, welcoming, and perhaps, I thought, offering lemonade and cookies (I needed a drink!). Maybe this place was okay – a sanctuary, with poetry readings and groups of talented people who danced and presented show tunes. Wrong!

As I turned to “meet Jack,” time stood still. It was as if horrible scenes slowly flashed in-my-face, really in my face, too, too close. There wasn’t time to run, not that I move that fast, but I was hedged between the zoo’s lily pad pool fence, which featured unfriendly eyeballs, and Jack, whom I was about to meet. There was no hope for escape.

What I thought might be a tray of lemonade and cookies hissed at me. He was a huge snake entwined around a cute, young girl, zoo attendant’s neck and arms. I mean – what was she thinking? The gosh-awful thing was a brightish yellow/gold, I think. Oh, I don’t know. I was too busy trying to breathe (breathe-in, breathe-out).

So to Hubs chicken festival question, I answered “NO!”

He insisted with a pretty good argument. We must go support our chicken-type-friends, he said, who enjoy this festival. You know everything is not about us. We should broaden our horizons.

Sigh.

We arrived as the Chick-a-dee Jamboree was underway. It was sort of like a game of bingo but in a more feathery fashion. I have never tended to be a lucky game winner but I was afraid I would win this time, because the jackpot was a giant mother hen and ten chick-chicks. Not as awful-terrible as Jack at the zoo but still not my idea of a prize.

We moved right along to the exhibits. Oh, it was interesting in a clucking-way, if you like clucking, that is. There were a variety of feathers in all colors shaped into visual art exhibitions. Among the creations was a replica of da Vinci’s, Mona Lisa. The only difference from the original, I think, was just that the captivating look from her eyes was a little quivery, like she wanted to sneeze, but with all of the feathers, you know that’s understandable.

Oh, and then I noticed an interesting pottery piece in the style of Mississippi’s George Ohr, known as the Mad Potter. Amazing – all made from Mississippi chicken feathers! Mississippians truly are original artists – even our Rhode Island Reds.

But it was at the end of the exhibition, when the incubating eggs were displayed and a few of them had pecked themselves into the world was where I experienced the greatest revelation. You see just as I walked to the last egg, the little head popped through and I declare it said as-clear-as-day. MeMaw! MeMaw!

That’s me!

We have a new week here at the McKee ranch. Little Birdie (I named her Birdie so’s she wouldn’t know she’s a chicken) has settled really well into the household, I think. Of course, G & G still have their tails all fuzzed up but they’ll get over it, eventually. I am certain we can all be a loving family.

After all, we are all God’s creations, except for Jack, the zoo snake. God’s blueprint of him must have gone awry. But I won’t worry about that now. It’s a beautiful spring day, the sun is shining and the world is here for the taking. Think I’ll take my little brood (listen to me, chicken-talk), yes, think I’ll take my little hatching, plus kitties, out for a stroll.

Happy spring from the McKee ranch.

Anne McKee is a Mississippi historian, writer and storyteller. She is listed on the Mississippi Humanities Speakers Bureau and Mississippi Arts Commission’s Artist Roster. See her website: www.annemckeestoryteller.com