The Girls

When I was young my father took me turkey hunting. I remember the early mornings sleeping in the pickup truck as we travelled to the mountain. My father would locate where the turkeys were and choose a few natural obstructions to hide behind in the area. We would arrive with flashlights and then secret ourselves until the turkeys came. On one particular occasion I remember falling asleep on the ground behind a log while my father called patiently to see if a gobbler would respond. It was familiar territory to Dad, he'd hunted the area since he was a boy, and we were set up just right. A gentle nudge from Dad and a whisper to get ready got my heart pumping as I knew he'd seen the turkeys and was watching. Suddenly he rose up from behind the log and the Winchester blasted. By the time I'd gotten my gun up the turkeys were just running out of sight. Dad was baffled. "How'd I miss that bird? I can't believe I missed that bird!" And just then a branch of a witch hazel bush that was growing there fell over, shot through by a 12 gauge blast. What a laugh we had.

Over the years my father and I had mixed success with the turkeys, lots of different places and lots of different memories, but when I went off to college, our turkey hunts ended. I've picked up the sport in the last few years. There are a couple of friends who are serious about it and they've piqued my interest again. These days I don't sleep in the truck on the way to the hunt. I am the one locating my spots and choosing where I set up for the hunt. I'm often the one with the call and the one listening and watching as the birds approach (or don't). I generally don't fall asleep during the watch, generally not. Words don't come to me to describe how much I enjoy sitting in the woods watching it come alive in the morning because on occasions like that my father is still always with me. The girls will come in, cautiously, testing my skills, and it always makes me feel like a kid again.

Well, this summer the girls are coming in again. Twice a day the flock passes through the yard. I've been feeding them faithfully and they are faithful to come. Sue and I have watched four hens raise their 25 poults right under our noses this summer. Tonight we sat quietly in the hot tub as they ran to the yard, scratched up their dinner, and then mosied off towards the barn, only to return again to be sure they'd finished their meal. The young ones still haven't totally learned the game, they are hilarious to watch as they dust themselves under the pear tree, nestle down in the grass, flap their wings, fly up into the grape vines, and scoot away to their roosting spots with no worries. The matriarchs watch over the young ones carefully and lead them away each night to roost safe and sound out of harm's way.

Couldn't help thinking about what my dad would think if he were sitting in that hot tub with me tonight as the girls came in. But he was. I learned my excitement for the natural world from him. He'd think it was so cool to see the girls, and it is. Cool because it brings me joy to remember sleeping behind that log and laughing with him when he missed.

Hey dad, the girls are back.

Denny