turkeys are peculiar creatures. at the farm, we have the joy of herding the little ladies out to pasture on a daily basis where they happily feed on sunlight, grass and farm-fresh air. until thanksgiving rolls around.
rather than raising beautiful heritage breeds, we rely on the good graces of cargill, who graciously grace us with 100-odd turkey chicklings (poults), as well as donating their bedding and supplemental feed. thank you corporate kindness.
papa ghana: turkey man of the year 2008.
enough of my pastoral ponderings . . . and back to down and dirty farm life (note the farmers in charge of the farm’s turkeys!). this morning, herdsman raymond mcgee/mcginnis small gathered and guided our friendly fowl to their pasture plot. like the dumb domesticated beasts that we all are, they were soon distracted (probably by some shiny object) and thundered full-speed in my general direction. if you’ve never seen a turkey run/waddle-at-full-speed, they rev their engines like turbo jets prepared for take-off but remain ground-bound due to their bountiful bosoms.
turkey man of the year 2009
well, in their great rush, only lovely lady got her dinosaur feet stuck in a mud puddle. and flap as she might – her flappage was all in vain (turkeys are suckers for pathetic deaths). i hopped the fence just as her scrawny neck went limp and her beady head turned blue. so i said a prayer – asked the great herdsman to carry her to the processing house for final rites. after a cup of coffee.
1. sharpen knife.
2. hang bird.
3. slit throat. (those americorps members can do everything!)
i am grateful to know the sunlight and air that nurture our food to life. to know the green pasture and garden soil that feed us. and to share the bounty with each other over a bonfire. rather than view death as the end, we see new life. i suppose there’s a parable in there somewhere.