On The Wing

I quit counting at forty, but they kept coming.  The turkeys were pouring out of the woodwork yesterday, massing in numbers at the breakfast bar under the oak and then separating into smaller parties.  It's pretty obvious that I am not considered a threat.  I was much closer to these intruders to the chicken pen than the photo shows.  Just a few of the many can be seen in the background waiting for the next seating.  The chickens seem to think discretion is the better part of valor and now just move out of the way.  It helps that I throw down double helpings of scratch.

I had no more broken the layer of ice in the pan of water left for the wild things than it was surrounded by these toms.  (Those are hen turkeys in with the chickens.)  Tree Guy and Number Two Son showed up shortly after this and were nearly drooling at the thought of turkey sandwiches.  Sorry, guys.  No shooting here.  We did stand and watch the big birds, discussing the fact that almost all of the toms seem very young, as evidenced by the tuft of beard on the chest.  This beard, which is a growth of thin, straggly feathers, lengthens as the male ages.  The "Mafia Boys" who used to cruise through had beards over six inches, but they haven't shown up for awhile.

I am happy to report that Tree Guy and Son made a tiny bit of progress toward getting the last mulberry trees in the ground while they waited for Earle, supervisor on the log cutting that was the reason they were here.  The mulberries are a project that has been hanging fire for nearly a year and a half and I so want it finished.  Earle feels the same way about the tree trunk.  We're moving ahead, slowly.