The Turkey

Morning peeked over the horizon and observed the sleeping meadow. It was unmoving- cold and crisp. Along the left side of the grassy expanse lay a thick tree line- maples, oaks, elms all grew tall and austere in unplanned preciseness. Running along the right edge of the meadow, was an orderly fence comprised of thick wooden posts and linear poplar boards. The order of the fence mocked the chaos of the forest adjacent to it. Like revolutionary soldiers, they stood in a perfect line facing one another separated only by an ocean of clover and orchard grass.


As dusk approached each night, the turkey ambled toward the same elderly locust just inside the treeline of the meadow. Like all poultry, they were creatures of habit and their nightly routine had not been disturbed for as long as a turkey may remember. Their dark feathered bodies could be seen about 20 feet above the ground where they were safe from the large nocturnal predators who patrolled silently.

At first light, the turkey stretched their seldom seen wings and half jumped/half flew back down to earth. True to their morning ritual, once every turkey in the group was assembled, they began a camoflauged parade through the dense underbrush which covered the wooded floor. So quiet, they were, that they may have been feathered ghosts. They walked slowly to the meadow- unhurried.

The parade passed by the stately trees and emerged from thickets of blackberry bushes and wild roses with great pomp and circumstance. Twenty strong, they were led by a large Tom who stood nearly a yard high (feathers and all). The grand marshall himself led the group onto the meadow to forage for grubs and insects who were greeting the sunlight.

Their tails were displayed in fans behind them. The Toms were distinguishable not only by their impressive size but also their long beards which dangled seductively (to a female turkey) from beneath their beaks. This family group consisted of several Toms, many hens, adolescent chicks, and even some immature birds strolling among them. They moved across the pasture in a methodically random manner consuming all manner of creeping crawling life.

They were an oddity of nature- with their avian-like qualities- yet they were strangely prehistoric. The ancestors of these great birds had likely roamed these same pastures long before there were fences or borders. Pilgrims or settlers had likely feasted upon one of these great birds on a Thanksgiving Day just like this one.

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone. I was blessed early on Thanksgiving morning with a huge turkey parade in one of the paddocks at Fields Quarter Horses. I turned off the motor on the Gator and sat and enjoyed watching them meander across the paddock before they moved on. Silent and peaceful, they were a joy to behold!