Once, when they were rare and unusual, wild turkeys were considered the highlight of a birdwatcher's foray. Now that they are common and underfoot, it seems OK to make fun of them (the turkeys, not the birdwatchers).
I don't know if wild turkeys were ever as plentiful as they are now. Sure, historical records indicate they used to roam widely throughout this area, but for some reason a census of wild turkey populations was overlooked in the pioneers' 'must do today' list of activities. Shame, really, all that opportunity lost.
But they are here now, and life's so much the merrier because of them. If you take the time to watch, and I mean really watch wild turkeys as they go about their day, you will quickly realize just how amazing it is that they have survived evolution so long. Dumb luck describes a turkey's lifestyle.
The terrain on our farm is that of the typical rolling hills found on the Oro Moraine, filled with valleys and gullies where centuries worth of running water has sculpted the sand and gravel into beautiful, sensual hills and slopes.
It can be hard walking, due to the myriad of slopes, but turkeys always manage to manoeuvre their way through this maze of valleys as they raid one soy-bean field after another.
There is a flock of five that regularly (like 7 a.m. every day) wander through our yard looking for breakfast. These ‘toms’ I have nick-named the Crab Apple Gang, as they slowly march single-file across the open yard to the tree that is currently loaded with red fruit. They then meticulously pick through the fallen apples, seeking all sorts of insects.
Not content with just apple-eating-insects being on the menu, they then saunter back across the lawn to pick at a patch of crab grass. I’m not sure if they are eating the grass seeds or the tiny critters that hide in the thick mats, but they do, again, meticulously pick through the grasses.
And then they wander away, single file, up and over the ridge until the next morning’s visit.
Occasionally, when out walking our trails, we will surprise a flock as they tip-toe across the meadow. Now you'd think that with 30 or more sets of eyes and ears, somebody in the flock would notice a couple of big people coming towards them. Gulls would, crows would, geese would ... but not turkeys. No sir, their credo is, if the guy in front of me is marching steadily onwards, then I shall too.
And so, one by one, as they round the toe of the hillside, they suddenly become acutely aware that the dude in front of them has stopped, because, you know, the one in front of her has stopped, because the one in front of the other guy has stopped ... because the first one in the line has come to the sudden and awful realization that "we are not alone."
I mutter a low toned, "Hi turkeys, how's the day going?" There then comes that moment when, in a turkey's brain, time stands still and all sorts of options and possibilities are weighed ... hmm, run, fly, retreat, stand still, dash right, dash leftn... decisions, decisions!
There are many species of birds that can move as a co-ordinated flock of graceful beauty, as if telepathy has caused the birds to move as one entity. Turkeys are not this kind of bird.
After that single defining moment of recognition of danger, turkeys tend to go, "OH MY GAWD! RUN! NO, FLY! NO, RUN!" And that's exactly what they do, everything, all at once! It's kind of funny really, but sad to see such otherwise dignified birds trip, fall, flap, skeedaddle, flit, zig-zag and hop their way to 30 different directions.
Amazingly, after the fuss dies down, there they all are, together again at the far end of the field, pecking at weed stalks, and hoping that one of them, someone, anyone, will start walking somewhere, anywhere, so that they can fall in line and get on with the day.
One scene that is the epitome of awkward turkey behaviour, is when they get airborne. Turkeys, like bumblebees, are designed not to fly. But they are too dim-witted to realize they can't, so they do. How dumb is that?
Again, mixing steep hillsides with turkeys that have one-line programs in their DNA gives amusing results. As before, the flock has managed to move quite close before realizing that they are indeed quite close to something they don't want to be quite so close to (that would me), and all heck breaks loose.
Those that chose to run very fast and swerve left over the brink of the hill, suddenly find that the ground has dropped away and they are well, groundless. Therefore, they must be flying.
“HOLY MACKINAW! I'M FLYING!” As the distant tree line at the bottom of the hill comes closer, ever closer, you can sense their thoughts as they give in to gravity. “HOLY MACKINAW! I'M ABOUT TO BE NOT FLYING!”
The birds aren't smart enough to be embarrassed by their bumpy landings, so they just kind of run it out and slow down, and then nonchalantly look for a line to join.
Turkeys, a part of our natural heritage. I guess I know where those early pioneers (the ones not doing a bird count) got that descriptive phrase (that for some reason I hear all the time) "Hey, ya dumb turkey!"
