Thanksgiving Turkeys

I love the Thanksgiving holidays.  I say holidays [plural] because, on most years, I get to celebrate by enjoying four separate turkey dinners.  The first takes place during the official Thursday holiday where I spend the day with around forty or so relatives.  Turkey Master, Paul Beatty supplies the birds for that event.  Beatty has turned turkey cooking into a science, and his offerings are simply the best you’ll ever taste.  The following celebrations – which stretch out into early December – are smaller in size, but continue the Thanksgiving theme by featuring roast turkey as the main entrée.  Good thing I love eating turkey as much as I do.

My task is to supply a bird for the final dinner.  It is my only responsibility.  But this year, the clock was winding down and I had no bird to offer.  With the final event currently looming large, my turkey dinner was still roaming the woods alive and well.  It wasn’t until the final day of November, that I finally took to the field.  The weather had taken an overnight turn and, according to the Weather Channel, the predawn temperature had plummeted to 5 degrees and a brisk northwest wind was delivering a minus thirteen-degree wind chill.  Time to add an extra shirt and goose down vest to my morning wardrobe.

Setting up in the dark, I picked a spot that turned out to be close, but not quite in the money.  With the arrival of daylight, I saw several turkeys come off the roost.  But the birds failed to respond to my call, and refused to move in my direction.  Instead, the birds regrouped, went into a tight huddle, and then didn’t budge for the next two hours.  It was apparent that the turkeys didn’t like the change in weather either.

A couple of birds finally began to scratch around, and the entire flock eventually became active.  By 10:30 the turkeys had fed their way out of sight.  After that I saw a couple of deer but no more turkeys.  At noon, I decided to pack it in.

It was late afternoon when I took to the woods for the second time.  By now, the clock seemed to be in overdrive.  Back home, I still had a turkeyless ‘frig and was working myself into somewhat of a panic.  Selecting a different section of the same timber, I placed a single decoy, took a seat against the base of a sturdy oak, and prayed for the best.  The sun was low on the horizon when I finally spotted a group of five or six long-bearded gobblers headed in my general direction.  The gooseberries were thick and keeping track of their approach became an on again, off again proposition.  Ironically, the closer the turkeys got, the harder they were to see. 

My decoy was in a small opening and the first gobbler to approach the effigy popped up as somewhat of a surprise.  All I could see was the bird’s head and neck suddenly protruding above the dense screen of thorny goosberries.  Although alert, the bird did not appear to be alarmed, and I held my fire.  I detected some additional movement to his side, as three more Long Beards soon appeared.  Within seconds, all of the birds were standing within easy shotgun range.  As I continued to enjoy the show, one of the birds suddenly emitted a loud and distinctive alarm putt.  I don’t know exactly what aroused his suspicion, but the big bird obviously knew something was wrong.  The rest of the birds immediately extended their heads and began to mimic his alarm.  The gig was up, and it was time to make my move.  Picking the bird with the highest head, I pulled the trigger.  The shotgun roared, and my belated Thanksgiving gobbler was in the bag.

With my much-needed turkey entrée now secured, the pressure was off.  Hanging the bird from a low branch, I took a seat on a nearby log and savored the moment.  I love the Thanksgiving holidays.