by cheri block
This morning, as I read Andreas Kluth’s blog post titled Angela and Me, I was struck with the profound difference in our lives. He–reporting on (arguably) the most powerful woman in Europe (other than his wife) and I–wandering around my property trying to find profound meaning in olallieberry bushes, olive trees, and turkey poop.
For a moment, maybe the time it takes to strike a match, I fell into a malaise of deep regret, wishing that I had entered the foreign service and traveled to Casablanca, hooking up with Rick and maybe sleeping with him.
That stimulating reverie vanished quite suddenly on this darkest day of the year.
The sound of wild turkeys waking up from their roost in a stately oak tree on the western side of our boundary snapped me back to my reality. Their language, a gibberish of clucks, squawks, and determined chortles, amplified by their numbers (we now have over 75 of them at last count) is impossible to decipher. The hens seem harried; the toms seem determined. Both sexes seem primitive.
I remember a PBS show on Nature about the female elephant Echo, and the efforts she had to make to elude her male suitors with their large, uh, trunks, coming after her in the early morning, before she was fully awake. I remember, as my hand reached into the microwaved popcorn bowl, yelling out, “Run Echo, Run!!!”
Of the 75 plus wild turkeys living on the Rancho, about 2/3 are hens. That leaves about 25 toms in various stages of maturity. They posture, dominate, and squabble over their hens, which I have noticed, spend most of their time earnestly searching for insects and walking in unison toward the next pile of leaves.
Then–when they least expect it, the ruckus and rumpus and downright orgiastic wing-flapping and chest bumping begins. The hens crow-hop nervously to the right and left, the toms bump against them and I guess, something happens. “Run, Gretchen, Run!” I find myself muttering while Dinah and I survey not only their sexual behavior, but also the weeds among the olive trees.
Dinah, for her part, loves the turkeys for they provide nourishing little protein snacks,
left haphazardly between the Arbequinas and the Lecchinos.
Could reporting on the Euro-zone crises, the success of Volkswagen, Mercedes, and BMW, and the life of Angela Merkel really be more stimulating that watching wild turkeys?
Cheri,
This was hysterical and you brightened up my day in the most spontaneous and uproarious way.
Sending you a holiday hug from Philadelphia.
MJ
Oh so good to see your photo and read your words, especially this time of year. I’ve been reading James Hollis’s books on Jungian thought and have thought of you a number of times in the last month.
Cheri,
I read Jim’s books again and again and there will be a new one yet: very exciting.
Here is a marvelous interview with him http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HCIOI71neL0 He is one of my special people in the whole wide world, a colleague and a friend.
During the season please give you mom a hug, your husband a kiss and your dog a pat but those turkeys, well, I’ll leave that part of the mystery up to you!
1) you have correctly identified the two most powerful women in Europe, in the right order.
2) I have been to Casablanca, but I have neither hooked up nor slept with Rick EITHER, so we’re even.
3) your turkeys’s poop I win that round (quantitatively).
4) your observations about the “toms” were intriguing and the analogy obvious, but, personally, I DENY everything and say, in my Capone voice, “yougotnoproof”.
That’s what my kids used to say until I pulled the wine cooler bottle or the shredded report card out of the trash. Of course, drinking and cheating aren’t nearly as serious as the turkey behavior here at the Rancho.
Sorry, that got garbled: “your turkeys’s poop is less than my three “turkeys’s” poop, therefore I win that round (quantitatively).
So, by my count, we are tied.
I went from chuckling, to laughing, to orchard-envy!!! Magnifico!
You are too clever, RM.
“….hooking up with Rick and maybe sleeping with him…….”
I’m shocked, shocked…….
You are not…
I always thought Rick was rather sexy too. Not so 75 over sexed tom turkeys. Impressive photos. AK
Well, comparing Rick to 75 turkeys does throw a whole new light on Casablanca.
“Here’s looking at all of you little toms..”
Is that what is called the Turkey Trot?
Good one, Paul!
(Must…not…make…obligatory…Wild…Turkey…pun.)
I’ve noticed that toms, be they relatively young’uns or long-bearded old jakes, do like to travel with anywhere from a few to several hens in tow–something like Jackie Gleason or Hugh Hefner if they crapped outside (and with Hugh that’s a coin flip.)
Ha! I’ve just photographed more W.T.’s and several did look like Jackie Gleason. In fact, I have a shot of Gleason and Hefner strutting together.
Cheri,
I have it on good authority that a good friend of mine took his bow and arrow, walked into his backyard in the Sunol area, and shot a poor, unsuspecting wild turkey down by his creek (all the other turkeys just stared…unmoving)…and made his teenagers pluck the feathers, and they roasted it ATE it for Christmas dinner!!! He said it was the best tasting, tender turkey they’d ever eaten….
Gives me the shudders….