La Conner’s Planning Commission is in the middle of a deceptively simple question: are inflatables decorations or advertisements?
The Retro Diner turkey(s) that kicked off the debate have waddled off Morris Street, but the real issue hasn’t deflated at all. Under town code, a “sign” includes any device “displayed to attract attention to a business or event,” and “inflatable signs” are prohibited. The commission’s snag — laid out clearly in Town Administrator Scott Thomas’s memo — is that the phrase “attract attention” drags intent into enforcement. If someone says, “It’s just holiday cheer,” does that magically turn an attention-getting device into a non-sign?
Planner Ajah Eills worries (reasonably) that intent-based rules invite gamesmanship: business owners will simply say whatever answer unlocks the outcome they want. Commissioner Sommer Holt points toward something sturdier: objective standards. As she put it, the obvious purpose of a sidewalk inflatable in front of a business is to draw business. You don’t need a mind-reader on staff to see that a giant turkey is doing what giant turkeys do.
This is where local governance bumps into constitutional physics. Because the moment a town starts regulating expression based on why someone says they’re doing it — or worse, based on whether officials believe them — it starts walking the tightrope of the First Amendment.
Scabby and the Portland frog: Absurdity with teeth
We’ve seen this movie nationally, just with different characters.
Labor unions have used Scabby the Rat for decades as a rolling, inflatable indictment of unfair labor practices. Courts and labor regulators have treated that grotesque inflatable as protected symbolic speech. Not because it’s charming, but precisely because it’s communicative. It says, without a microphone, this workplace is crossing a line. The medium is silly. The message is serious. And the right to use it doesn’t depend on whether a regulator thinks the rat is “really” there to persuade, intimidate, educate or decorate. The right rests on the fact that it conveys an idea in public.
The Portland ICE protesters dressed as frogs played a different key in the same constitutional register. The frog suits — some inflatable, some full costume — became a symbol of nonviolent resistance. They used whimsy to expose imbalance: soft green absurdity facing hard state power. Again, the suits weren’t protected because they were cute. They were protected because they were speech you can see from a block away.
The danger of regulating “decoration”
The instinct to carve out a category for “decorations” is understandable. People want their holidays. Businesses want seasonal flair. Tourists love a photo op. But Holt’s warning is dead-on: once the code defines “decoration,” it has to decide what qualifies as a holiday, what themes count as permissible cheer, and what messages are too political, too commercial, too controversial.
That’s not a hypothetical slippery slope — it’s a real First Amendment trap. The fastest way for a town to get sued is to build rules that require officials to judge meaning. If a turkey is allowed because Thanksgiving is wholesome, how about a climate protest snowman? A “Save Our Farms” pumpkin? A “No Deportations” Santa? The minute you have to sort festive from expressive, you’re in viewpoint territory whether you want to be or not.
By contrast, treating inflatables as signs based on objective features avoids that trap. If the town says, “In this zoning district, no inflatables over X size in the right-of-way,” that’s a content-neutral rule. It doesn’t care whether the inflatable is a turkey, a rat or a frog. It cares about physical impact: sightlines, sidewalks, historic character, safety, clutter. That’s ordinary land-use regulation. It’s also defensible.
Intent is a squishy ruler
Intent feels like common sense until you try to enforce it.
A regulation that hinges on what’s in someone’s head (or what they’re willing to say is in their head) is practically an invitation to inconsistency. Two identical inflatables could face different outcomes depending on who’s applying, who’s inspecting, or how convincingly the owner says “it’s just for fun.” That kind of subjectivity is exactly what the First Amendment distrusts, because it opens the door to selective enforcement.
Even if everyone in La Conner is acting in good faith, future councils and commissions might not be. Codes have to be built for the worst day, not the best one.
A small-town question with a big-town answer
La Conner isn’t deciding national protest law here. It’s trying to manage a historic district and keep sidewalks from turning into a balloon festival. But sometimes, the smallest towns are where constitutional lines get tested in their most human form. You don’t have to be marching on a federal courthouse to engage in free speech — you might just be plugging in a fan under a turkey costume.
So here’s the clean principle to hold onto:
If an inflatable is used in public view to attract attention, it functions as speech — often commercial speech — and regulating it should be objective, content-neutral and not dependent on claimed intent.
That doesn’t mean the town must allow every blow-up creature. It means the town should make rules that don’t require officials to decide what a display means or what the owner really intended. Decide by size, placement, duration, zoning district. Keep it boring. Boring is constitutional.
Because once you start policing purpose, you’re halfway to policing ideas. And that’s how a turkey ends up in the same constitutional conversation as Scabby and the frog — proof that in America, even an inflatable can become a First Amendment matter the moment someone tries to decide what it’s “really” saying.
Kari Mar is the editor and publisher of La Conner Community News.
