Birding advice: Don't ever ask a turkey if he is dimwitted!
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| Wild Turkey - photo courtesy Robert Smith For more articles, click on the blue title This Saturday's MCAS field trip, see end of article |
Recently, while checking out the birdlife near the Pearl River, I was hailed by a gravelly voice from on high. Above me, on a gnarled branch in a moss-bearded oak, was a scrawny, unkempt Wild Turkey. He spoke English, persuasively.
He was a venerable old bird. He said he was hungry, so would I "gather a few handfuls of berries from yonder bramble patch?" and thirsty, so would I "run down to yonder flowing well and fill a canteen with fresh water?"
Having done so, I was invited to join him in his leafy bower, he being "too weak to help myself get down". With little ceremony, and no "thank you", he ate the berries and drank the water, and followed it with a profoundly appreciative belch. I noticed then that there was a lift to his berry-stained chin and a hint of mischief in his rheumy eyes.
We sat in quiet contemplation of the waning Autumn scene. Soon the old bird dropped his wattles to his chest and nodded off. As I myself was hanging on for dear life, I seized the chance to break away. In the doing I created a storm of quaking branches, breaking twigs, and falling leaves. He woke with a ruffle of feathers and sputtered, "You're not leaving?!" "Yes, I must go home to write a column. I write about birds."
"This must be Karma," he said, "you being a writer and I being a bird" I immediately grasped the implication.
I reached into my pocket and brought up a pad and pencil and a wilted peanut butter sandwich - my lunch - which he grabbed and ate.
"Now then, I will tell you all about me. But first, tell me what day this is."
He was jubilant when I answered "November 15th." He flapped to the ground in a great burst of energy. I tumbled after him. We strolled through the woods as he told me this story..
"I've been on the lam since 8th of November, the first day of turkey season, which always comes as a nasty surprise. I was with the other gobblers, eating acorns, when I was overcome by a yen for something meatier. So I took off on my own. I was finishing off a meal of grasshoppers and beetles when I heard a seductive call. From afar it sounded like Veronica, with whom I used to dally under the sweetgum trees. I made great haste, through the deep woods, to parlay my natural charms into an out-of-season love tryst. I was about to step into a clearing where I could strut my stuff and "vut-v-r-r-o-o-o-m-m-m into her auriculars, when it occurred to me that sweet Veronica and the other hens were foraging far to the east. I sensed (you'll suffer the pun) fowl play. There were hunters in my woods, and I was not about to become the roast of the town. So I turned on my tarsi and sped away - five days on the run, five nights roosting in trees. Alone. With nothing to eat or drink. You saved my life you know."
"Any beneficent birder would do the same," I said. "Now, tell me about yourself".
He hrrumped self-importantly, trotted up to a log podium, and, like one of history's great orators, he began. "I was born in a humble hollow made of sticks and grasses. To poor peasant stock.... on a dark and rainy night..." he added.
I looked at my watch. By the time he had milked his first three years of every superfluous tidbit, I knew my beneficence had been sadly misplaced. "Let's cut to the chase" I said. Just how old are you?"
"Nine, this past March. That's pretty old, in turkey years. And what a life it's been. Did I tell you about....."
I checked my watch again. "You are a most interesting bird, and I'm sure you have many fascinating miles behind you, but I really do have to leave. Just let me jump in here with a couple of questions, and we'll cal it a wrap.... Is it true that turkeys are dimwitted, with no sense of survival?"
"What? What? Dimwitted? You are talking here with a bird that has conned you into picking berries and climbing trees, so who's the dimwit? I'm descended from a long line of survivors who were smart enough to retreat when necessary, and wily enough to give a hunter the slip. Why, I've seen you and your Tuesday bird club in these woods dozens of times, but you haven't seen me. Not until I wanted to be seen. So, who's the smart one?'
"I didn't mean to rattle your wattles; maybe I should leave."
"Champion idea. It's late and I'm in a fowl mood. Maybe I'll catch you next time. Do lunch, finish my story. Now go."
"Before I do, I have some things in the glove compartment that you may find useful. Would it compromise your integrity if I left them as tokens of my good intentions? I'll just put them here, on this log."
He didn't answer. Nor did he look up when I drove away. But I caught sight of him in the rear view mirror. He was leaning on a tree, eating stale trail mix and studying a yellowed, dog-eared hunting schedule.
This article was published in November, 1992
All are welcome on Mississippi Coast Audubon Society Field trips! Check out those shorebirds in their winter plumage. HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO ALL.
Saturday, November 19, 2016: Hancock County Beaches
Shorebirds and more! Including but not limited to Washington St. Pier, the new Marina, the Yacht Club & some of the forested areas north of Hwy 90.
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