All I can say is that I’m glad roast beef was on the menu. If it had been turkey, I’d have felt guilty to be sharing a meal with the its wild counterparts. You see, a family of 12 wild turkeys crashed breakfast on Sunday last, and then lunch the day after the solstice, and dinner on Christmas. With the dining table right in front of the window, and the bird feeders just outside, it was impossible to miss these glorious birds as they flocked in from the woods across the road to peck among the cracked corn, sunflower seeds, and other delights. After all, it IS bird seed, and the family of turkeys see no reason why size should matter.

I’m getting used to enjoying meals with the big birds who live in the woods across the road. They’re bold, but wary, always watchful as they cluck to one another while scratting in the snow with massive clawed—almost prehistoric—feet. Their heads, too, are prehistoric in appearance, naked but for short hair-like feathers, large eyes, and wrinkly skin. Wild turkeys are clever, fast, beautiful birds. If you’ve never seen wild turkeys up close, here are a few of the diners, fluffed up against the cold temperatures:

 

 

 
Look at those feet. Here’s a closer view:

 

 
Their feathers take on a variety of colors depending on the angle and tonality of light. In the next to photos the feathers are copper-colored:

 

 

 
Now, this is a face only a mother could love:

 

 
After they were through, they sped across the road and into the cover of a mixed woodland:

 

 

 
They left behind two things, though—turkey tracks:

 

 
And turkey scat:

 

 
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