Turkey Track Cottage

All Hubby ever wanted was property where the turkey and deer would come in to feed.

In the photograph, you see turkey in their natural habitat, the meadow. Photo by Bruce Adams. Copyright.

Luxury, for me, watching birds at the simple stump feeders in my garden. Junco, titmouse, chickadee, jays, nuthatch.  The grey and golden winter morning sky against the forest.  Coffee and yogurt…..

I see them.  Two young turkey scouts looking for the hole in the fence.

Finding not one hole big enough for a turkey, they flap over.

Do turkey fly?  In my humble opinion, turkey fly enough to save themselves or kill themselves, whichever it is remains debatable.  But after witnessing the aeronautics of one Wisconsin turkey, I then knew if it had not found the right wind current for uplift, there would have been one huge ball of bird crashing off my windshield.

The two scouts run to the wishing well feeder, one giving a horn-like puckpuck call.  Yes, he told the head Tom on the other side of the fence, Yes! the suckers left out more food.

Today is their third visit since they discovered the wildbird smorgasbord.  They don’t understand.  Their feast is the cracked corn under the pines way down behind the gazebo. The area where their wildlife food plot will be come spring.

At Turkey Track Cottage, the circle of life is a little off. Note squirrel feeding turkey from birdfeeder?

I had not once envisioned them in my garden.  Long-legged, knobby-kneed turkey standing in my bird feeders.

Hubby calls me ‘turkey’ when he thinks I’m silly.  Today he can call me turkey for being gullible.

They flap over the fence, racing through the yard.  All thirty-seven of them.

Turkey travel as a village.

There are the young.  And the youngest of the Toms with a minuscule tuft of chest feather.

The three wise ones who walk slowly, side-by-side.  Heads down, either decision making or holding one another up so no one realizes how tipsy old age leaves them.

The turkey are silent for the entire scavenger, not a gobble.  Ghosts of the forest.  No, ghost turkeys of my garden.

I know if I stand on the sunporch they will leave, wary to return.  But at the window of my room I am careful not to alarm them.  After all, Hubby has missed all three visits.  First turkey sighting, he was on his way to work, only thirty seconds to enjoy them.  Second sighting, he was at work.  Today, he is asleep after a double shift, and though I woke him to announce their arrival, he just grinned between snores.

After a group finishes food in one of four garden spots, they migrate to the next.  But somehow, the new group at the pecked over spot finds more seed to occupy them for five minutes.

When a bird feeding spot is void of turkey, the Tufted Titmouse and Dark-eyed Junco return.  But they find nothing and these petite birds with tiny appetites agree it’s been hardily pecked over.

When the turkey leave I will feed the birds more.  The turkey, not so much.  As if I have a say.  Because I know they are just standing on the other side of the fence, watching.

Yesterday when my granddaughter arrived, she sighted them by the house.  “Why are those big birds out there?!”  Good question.  Ask your Pap Pap (grandpa).

When the turkey left, she announced, “They dug a hole in the yard, Grandma.”

Yes, yes, they did.  A few craters in my garden during a deep freeze.  Monster bird tracks everywhere.

Not me.

That’s why this new world of ours with nine acres for turkey to feed is called Turkey Track Cottage.  They congregate up here on the top acre.  They stand on the roof.  The porch.  Lurk in the driveway.

That’s why I need hanging bird feeders.

That’s why I ask what perhaps no one else in the world has wondered.   “How many turkey does it take to cave in an in ground pool cover?  Five?  Six?  Seven?

Yes, I am counting them.

Does the weight of the snow make a difference?   Eight?  Nine?

Hubby!  Your turkey!! are congregating on the pool cover!  Wake up!

He snores.

And I am the last turkey standing.

If you enjoyed this story, you will also like Gracie: The Freezing Fake Lady Bug.  And Look Ma, A Hawk Feeder.   And Mama Sure Is Taking Her Own Sweet Time Today.

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