Chapter 18: Public Comment

The Pratt County commissioners meet on the second floor of the courthouse annex, under a ceiling fan that turns once a minute.

Thursday morning there was not a seat to be had.

I had never seen a public comment hearing with a line out the door.

The Pioneer cap man was there, and the heavy man from the co-op board, and three Henning cousins in a row.

The old man from the corner table sat on the aisle with his cap in his lap.

Colby's mother had brought a thermos for the whole row.

"Don't look at the chairman," Colby said, very low.

"Why not?"

"That's the Commissioner."

I turned my head a quarter inch.

The man in the center chair was heavy, pink and bald, with reading glasses on a cord, and he was shuffling papers with an air of great importance.

"The heifer?" I whispered.

"He told me my fence was a hazard," Colby said, "and then he drove through it."

"Colby."

"Nothing since. I've never said a word."

"You named a cow after him."

"She's the best one," he said. "She's stubborn and she's usually right."

I put my hand over my face.

The chairman rapped a gavel the size of a salt shaker.

"Item four. Conditional use permit, Prairie Wind Energy, one hundred forty acres, south of Pratt, for a solar generation facility."

"Applicant of record is Mr. Travis Stiles, as agent for the owner."

Travis stood at the front table in a pressed shirt, with a binder.

He gave the room a smile built for a crowd, and it slid off at the edges.

I stood up.

"Mr. Chairman, I'm the owner. I haven't signed anything."

A murmur went through the room.

The chairman peered over his glasses.

"Mr. Stiles. You represent that you're the owner's agent?"