A New Addition to the Farm: Turkeys!

The turkeys have come! The Farmer’s Wife is running here and there, checking this and that—are the paper towels just so? Is there water? Feed? Her hand waves under the heat lamp, checking it. She stands up, happy with all that this surveying has shown. The turkey’s spot is set. Now, it’s just time to go get the birds!

The Farmer’s Wife races to the car to go to the Post Office. Yes, the Post Office. You didn’t know that’s where turkeys came from, did you? Were you, perhaps, expecting something a bit more glamourous—like the neighborhood feed store? No. The turkeys of the likes and kinds the Farmer’s Wife wants come from a Farm Far Away, therefore they must be shipped. That Farm waits for the day the little eggs hatch and the chicks emerge and scoop them up and send them right off in the mail to a Farmer’s Wife somewhere out there who’s doing her own kind of surveying.

But we’re not talking about all of them. We’re talking about our own Farmer and his Wife, and they’ve ordered ten little birds of the bronze variety. They placed their order months and months ago, and waited. And waited. Until just yesterday, when they got the news that their chicks have been hatched and are on their way.

Oh, you can just imagine the uproar! The getting of things. The constructing of the box (actually, they end up using an old cabinet flipped on its side, doors removed. That center strip of wood is just the right width and height to hang the heat lamp upon).

And now they’ve come!

The Farmer’s Wife enters the Post Office and loud chirping greets her. The lady behind the counter takes one look at the Farmer’s Wife and says, “Please, please tell me you’re the one coming for these birds! They’ve been chirping all morning!”

“I am the very one,” the Famer’s Wife reassures her.

She’s handed the box and the chirping stops for just a moment. One turkey peaks it’s head out of an air hole, and looks up. Way up. His head jerks back in. And oh, how the chirping begins then!

The Farmer’s Wife carefully carries the box to the warm and waiting car and sets it on the seat next to her. “Soon,” she whispers. “Soon you’ll be home sweet home.”

And so they are.

They’re carried to their spot, and taken from the box, one at a time. First their beaks are dipped into the water, followed by the feed. “So you’ll know where to find it,” the Farmer’s Wife tells each one, right after she introduces first herself, then the Farm.

The turkeys huddle together for a moment. And then one, (a very brave soul) ventures a step onto the paper towel ladened floor. And then another. He heads first to the water and takes a big gulp and begins peck peck pecking the floor.

The Farmer’s Wife shakes her head. “That’s a paper towel. Not food.” She gently picks him up and shows him the feed. Again.

He peck peck pecks.

Soon the rest join in. The Farmer’s Wife smiles. “Welcome home,” she whispers.