There haven't always been turkeys around here, at least not in any great number.  Occasionally I'd see a couple cross the road, or at the base of a tree in the orchard.  It was an exception, the kind of thing you'd mention to the neighbors. 'Hey, did you see the wild turkey? '  Exciting.  One December, years ago, I saw a rafter of about 20 wild turkeys on a hillside along rt 80 in Pennsylvania.  It was so unusual that I still remember where it was and how they looked as we sped by.  As I write this, there are nine wild turkeys, looking for food, not more than twenty feet from me on the other side of the glass door.  The cat is outside watching them.  So am I.

It starts early, just before dawn.  I hear then making soft calling noises high up in the trees.  Where are you, I am here.  Look hard, you can see them roosting.  As the sky begins to brighten, the noises get louder, much louder, until everyone is wide awake.  Myself included. 

Then the fun begins.  Wild turkeys are not graceful fliers.  As they descend, small branches snap, there's crashing commotion all the way to the ground.  LOUD!  They do this one at a time, and all at once.  That is what all the noises have been about, your turn, my turn.  The more I know, the more fascinated I become.

Several weeks ago, we saw a special on PBS Nature called My Life as a Turkey.  You can watch it streaming on your computer.  I saw it again a few days ago as I tied red bows in my studio. It was that good.  The story is about a clutch of wild turkey eggs that imprint and are raised by a naturalist.  He learns to talk turkey.  Check it out. Gorgeous photography.

I'm thinking that it is way to early to feed them.  A neighbor does.  There will be plenty of time when the snow falls.  I wonder what they find without acorns this year.

 

The more I learn, the more I want to know.  We aren't the only ones who speak to one another.  Just listen.