Turkeys

Turkeys east of Goldstake, Washington

We have lots of traditions centered around turkeys in this country –

Millions are consumed for Thanksgiving, the president annually pardons a couple of birds, “sparing” them from the dinner table (what actually happens to them anyway? Is there an old fowl home where they while away their days in rockers?), and we search the supermarket fliers for the best price on frozen (sometimes fresh), big-breasted, butter-balled blocks wrapped in plastic that bear no resemblance to the birds pictured above.

Given that our urbanized population lacks an appreciation for where our food comes from – what if we changed that last tradition? What if we selected the centerpiece of our holiday tables fully feathered? What if we drove out to a commercial poultry farm, walked among the thousands of white birds, and picked out our favorite gobbler to be killed, plucked and delivered the following week? (Of course, the Wild Turkey Federation encourages us all to take up hunting for what was almost our nation’s symbol.) Perhaps the protein smothered in gravy or slathered with cranberry sauce on our sandwich the next day would hold more meaning. Perhaps the gap between the grocery store and the farm would be reduced. Perhaps we would be more thankful for those who devote their lives to growing the food we consume. Perhaps we would be thankful for living in a country whose natural landscapes were home to the first turkey. Perhaps we would have a greater appreciation for the landscapes themselves and all they provide for us. Perhaps.

Me? I’m off to the store – Christmas hams are on sale.