And personal. Always. Up close and personal. Both the turkeys and their ever present associate and ringleader Geraldine the pea hen.
As I dole out the feed into separate bowls for the pigs, they have their heads in the pigs bowls, as I lean in to scoop chicken feed into the white bucket they are leaning right onto my arms trying to get their heads into that bag too, pecking at the scoop as it moves up and down – their bodies are fat and warm, they smell like summer. I have to lift them entirely, spreading my fingers wide so as to hold their wings against their bodies then move them to one side their legs peddling in space and then try to re-attach them to another side of the bench just so I can see what I am doing.
They get so close to my face I sometimes fear for my eyes, but they don’t peck each others eyes so I think I am safe from them pecking mine.
They frequently knock into me, or step on my arms, or fly at me or wack me in the head with their wings, or peck at my hands as though I am just another big bird stealing from a feed bag.
When I feed the chooks and peafowl they refuse to move away to their own personal bowls. These are the type of bowl you hook over a gate. One red and one blue. I always fill their bowls first in an attempt to free my arms to work but they ignore their own bowls until the other hens are distracted with food and the pigs have ceased their clamour. And I have finished rattling about in the bags. Then they totter away and balance precariously on the wooden pig gate where their blue and red containers are hooked and eat frantically until from the corners of their dense black eyes they see me move again, then they reel back and fall like fat grubs onto the ground jostling about like keystone cops as they recover their balance and direction and hurry after me. Drunks. Hungry nosy drunks.
These turkeys are not pretty, they do not have the smooth beautiful heads and sloe eyes of the Peafowl. Or bright red combs like the chickens. They do not have a little crown, or special long tails and their eyes are black and oval like the eyes of the martians you see in those old movies, but the turkeys are glossy like brushed blue black horses, and their feathers lay down their backs like well laid roof tiles.
And they are sweet. And strangely appealing.
I hope you have a lovely day.
celi
The Kitchen's Garden 
55 responses to “Up Close. Very Close.”
I’ve never had domesticated turkeys up north- did have Banties for years- we loved those chooks- so industriously gobbling up slug eggs and pesky garden bugs!l Now that we live in the wilds of Upper Northern California we just have wild turkeys that periodically stroll through our 10 acres- we usually see about 40 at a time. Cannot approach them- but that’s fine as we don’t want them to even think about trusting humans. Not here.
Forty at a time! That must be magnificent to see.
An only a mother could love her, type of animal, I suppose…. heh heh
Well, in reading the comments I have seen the words ‘noble’ and ‘with dignity’ used. hmmmm, somehow I can’t relate, “they reel back and fall like fat grubs onto the ground jostling about like keystone cops,” like some sort of hungry drunks with actions being noble or with dignity…
I suppose in the realm of anipals there is room for affection toward the less genteel, but up close and personal with turkeys is something that is completed quite quickly with one visit in January. However, turkeys or not, it’s always enlightening.
Hope you have a great day too! ~ Mame 🙂
I quite like them in their less than beauty. We have brush turkeys around here, who are quite good looking birds, none of that warty oddness, but they like to scrape the garden and particularly the mulch into big mounds then the lady lays her eggs deep int he middle, and there they incubate. she goes off, maybe on more amorous adventures, and the male stays and guards the eggs…..scraping more of the garden on top all day long, to keep them hot.
So they incubate like turtles eggs – under the ground and hatch with the male?
Not quite underground…..more like inside a big mound of compost…..they build the mounds up, could be a few feet high/deep and the eggs are in the middle, then the male’s hang around and guard them, then make sure they get out ok.
Awwww – I think they’re gorgeous!
Turkeys got texture. Always one awkward child – and you can’t help but love them.
They are homely but cute in a funny way.
Like me!! c
I bet the turkeys all think they look like Geraldine 😉
A good circus needs clowns, a good Farmy needs turkeys… which in this best of environments it seems are so unhindered by norms they can be however they want to be. Would be that the greater world was so.
Looking at the photographs, I wouldn’t find them appealing, not even strangely. But reading your account of the way they behave and THEN looking at the photographs, I smile and wish I lived nearby so I could visit them occasionally and celebrate their clumsy-clunky, mysterious beauty. From your description, I can see they are another proof of the existence of the Great Spirit, Humor. Gentle, affectionate, respectful Humor. They do have their dignity, you know.
There is an intriguing reenactment-documentary on wild turkeys, “My Life as a Turkey”, in which the narrator makes observations about the turkeys’ “intelligence, communication skills, playfulness, and need for affection.” His words and images changed my presuppositions about turkeys – if I ever meet a wild turkey, I will do my best to begin by viewing it from his perspective. An article about the film can be found here: http://www.3quarksdaily.com/3quarksdaily/2014/08/on-pbs-nature-documentaries-and-my-life-as-a-turkey.html
Thank you Sonja. I will have a look! c
I don’t think many of us would look good up that close. It took me quite a while to become accustomed to my bathroom’s lighting. There’s a row of lights above the mirror. Who needs that first thing in the morning? If the lights don’t blind me the reflection surely will.
In that last photo your turkey’s head has strangely similar features to the Black Vultures who like to ride the currents overhead here.