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It's fascinating to me how attached I can become to something that sees me only as a threat. It takes some work to not feel sad about this, but it's worth it. The attachment helps me remain connected to the larger world, and to keep my heart soft.
Long story short, I love wild turkeys and especially their babies.
Long story less short, a few years, a couple of mama turkeys decided to raise their 17 babies in the wildness at the edge of our yard. We watched them grow from little fluff balls to curious kids to rangy adolescents, and then they were gone. Two came back and lived here for a winter-spring-summer-fall, but that's another story. We watched them grow, chased away a hawk or two as the moms crouched over their babies, and really marveled at them. I still have a few of the feathers the juvenile bids shed on the front walk.
I mean, look at them. How could we not have loved them?
Once they were gone, they were gone. It was as if turkeys vanished from our little corner of the world.
I missed them. Say what you will about turkeys, watching these animals was a lesson in beauty, humility, and wonder.
A few weeks ago, two mama turkeys with seven babies arrived in our backyard. We were delighted. The sounds they made were silly and charming, the mothers were so very careful and caring, giving each other breaks and never putting the kids at risk. It was a wonder.
They disappeared again, but we weren't too worried, they did that from time to time. We were just beginning to wonder what had happened when we saw two female turkeys running frantically through our backyard. Back and forth. You could see the fear in their movements (don't tell me animals don't have feelings, you know they do as well as I) and their distress. There were no babies.
Charley and I talked about what might have happened, each afraid to say the word "coyote" or "eagle" or, most likely, "human." We each mourned a little without wanting to worry the other.
The turkeys returned yesterday, moms and babies. All seemed well. The babies are bigger and they are all there. The mamas still take care of each other and their young. We were both so relieved.
I know the turkeys see me as a threat, as they should. I know were I to approach too closely the best outcome would be a rapid retreat. I know all of these things. That doesn't stop me from loving them, from feeling invested in them, from caring about what happens to them.
If I can feel this way about turkeys, I can feel this way about butterflies, trees and even people. You. Take care of yourself. I care about you. Let me know that's you're okay, even if it's by making a weird sound and leaving a feather on the ground.
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