I've had this misconception about roosters. And that's not something I ever expected to have a misconception about. But, holy crap, I really have. And I've had it for about as long as I can remember. I think maybe I got it from watching cartoons. Or possibly from reading books with colorful drawings in them where all these animals live together swimmingly in a big red barn. And for a kid growing up in the concrete, strip-center sprawl of suburban Houston, life in and around the big red barn seemed pretty damned great and idyllic. Because farm animals were awfully considerate and well-behaved and all these creatures did their part to contribute to the cycle of life on the farm and they just played and slept and sometimes worked, but even the work they loved. And they also loved each other and were a team and never disturbed anybody. And from this early education I acquired about farms, I understood that roosters were vitally important for getting the whole operation going in the morning. And they did this by crowing once at dawn. Just a cock-a-doodle-doo. Just one. A friendly message to the people on the farm who might still be sleeping that ... Hey everybody, so sorry to interrupt your restful slumber, I'll be brief ... I only wish to inform you that the sun is indeed up now, its rays just became visible over the horizon there and it looks like we're in for another day of blue skies and no rain ... so if you want, it's safe to go ahead and get up, have a shower, take a whiz, stretch a bit, you know ... but if you're still tired, if you were up late drinking and you just now discovered you'd actually forgotten to take off your clothes and your sleeping diagonally across your bed and your arm is asleep under the weight of your body and your cheek is laying in a wet pool of drool, and your head is just a great big god-dammed boulder, and the sun isn't something you want to see until sometime next week, well, I apologize ... I'll just shut up now and you can go back to bed ... I'm so very sorry for the intrusion ... unfortunately, it had to be done, because it's my job ... and yes, I'll be back tomorrow at the same time, but I'll try to be quick about it.

Well, I was set straight about roosters in Mexico. And I'm sorry to break this to you all, but Margaret Wise Brown lied to us. And it's been perpetuated by other kid-media throughout the years. By cartoons. Probably even by freakin' Sesame Street. Believe: this shit goes straight to the top. And I don't understand the cover up. I really don't—why nobody ever told us that roosters sometimes liked to crow, you know, at two in the a-m, for instance. Or three-thirty for that matter. Or five. And really at just about every time leading up to, and including, dawn. And then frequently throughout the day. This would be useful information to have. Because if you're going to be staying anyplace where there might be a rooster living next door, then you might make plans. You might call ahead and find out if there's somebody who can procure a shotgun, for instance. Or a flame-thrower.

Here's some more truth: Cock-a-doodle-doo doesn't even come close to describing the hell-scream that is the rooster crow. And the one single crow at dawn and then back to sleep schtick is ... crap. Roosters have a small brain. They forget they just spoke. And so they repeat themselves. Over and over. And over. And over. And each time, they seem surprised by their remarkable profundity, and ... sheer volume. And at their uncanny ability to render horrifying and dreadful the peaceful calm of an early morning in a sleepy coastal town in Mexico.

Here's a video, to give a feel for things. It's 3 am. I'm on the balcony across the hall from our room. Note the waves crashing in the distance. So peaceful. And that big light in the corner ... that's the moon. Because—did I mention this?—it's three in the morning. The recording doesn't do justice to just how loud were those cock-a-doodle-doos, but you get the idea. Imagine these calls echoing around in a house interior made up of marble floors.



I'm sure, just like with the fire-engines that used to go up and down Mass Ave in front of our building in DC, we would have eventually gotten used to the rooster crows, but after the first couple of nights with the windows open and waking up to that screeching, we caved and closed them up and ran a fan for white noise. It was an unfortunate but necessary step.

Despite the rooster, or maybe because of him, the trip to San Pancho was quite great. And a wonderful reprieve from a New Jersey that's still having temperatures in the 30s and 40s.

The pics are here. Or check 'em out below:



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