The next day I find myself drawn to the turkey encampment again. Having grown up in an ordinary suburban environment, I still delight whenever I stumble upon cows grazing on a nearby farm or deer strolling through my backyard, evidence of my current semi-rural location. Roaming turkeys certainly trump the more pedestrian fox or doe sightings.
Impulsively I pull over and park the car. It is a gorgeous fall day, leaves crunch under my feet as I walk closer to the enclosure. Suddenly the birds leap up and start waddling en masse toward me, straining against the wire fence. I stop and then step back. I didn’t expect them to notice me.
Simultaneously they begin cackling with excitement over their visitor. Oh dear, this unsettles me a bit. It’s obvious why these birds are here and their cacophony makes them that much more alive.
They settle down some and I can see their pale pink heads and darker pink wattles. Their feathers are pure white, almost dazzling in the sun. They keep me transfixed.
After a while it begins to get cold standing out in the breeze. I walk back to my car and get in. As I turn around to leave, I see a large sign posted on the other side of the field, “Pastured Turkey $3.50 lb. 610-555-5440.” I pause and silently regret volunteering to cook and host Thanksgiving dinner this year.