Hearth To Hearth

by Donna Tavano

Talkin’ Turkey 

                November is the month when a lowly bird achieves holiday and celebrity status.  But in a strange twist of fate, instead of being honored by sitting at the head of the table, we find him sitting---er, lying--- sur la table, sans la tete, the rest of him swallowed up in a sea of sausage stuffing and cranberries, on a platter emblazoned with his image in more in happier (for him) times. Yup, Turkey Day is on its way.  Not surprising, then, that June is actually National Turkey month.  I believe the feathered ones must prefer it that way.

                Turkeys are odd fowl, at best, but have managed to insinuate themselves into our culture and language.  We’ve got the turkey trot, talkin’ turkey, a real “turkey,” turkey vultures and that long-heralded libation Wild Turkey.  A number of stories attempt to explain why a bird on this continent seemingly bears the name of a country across the ocean.  Some say Chris Columbus thought this place on which he’d landed was connected to India, and as the wild birds resembled peacocks, he called them “tuka” the Tamil word for that creature.  Then there’s the theory that a Native American word for the animal was “Firkee,” which of course poses the question, which came first, the Firkee or the turkey.  And then there’s the noise it makes, “turk, turk, turk.” Whatever; a turkey by any other name still gobbles.

                Did they eat turkey at the first harvest feast?  Possibly, but no one can confirm it. They definitely ate venison, but it would be pretty tough to find a platter that big, and frankly, the fear of sibs calling dibs for a deer haunch and then wielding the giant drumstick over Grammie’s lace tablecloth is a terrifying specter.

                The awkward gobbler was also nominated by Ben Franklin as the National Symbol---though silly and vain, he stated it would certainly chase any Redcoat out of the yard, whereas he considered the eagle a wimp.  Oh well, a bigger wing span and impressive aerial routine will obviously get you everywhere, and eventually left poor Tom scratching in the dust.

                Decades ago, wild turkeys were almost nonexistent, but their numbers are up, way up in Mackworth Island, Maine, where turkey rafters (synonymous with flocks) zoom airborne out of the trees at 4:30 a.m. like B-52s, driving the residents crazy with their clucking and hollering.  And on Martha’s Vineyard, a few towns have been taken over by our feathered friends.  They’ve ruined gardens and roofs, and at 55 mph flying and 25 mph running, actually taken out a few unwary seniors.  Then there are all the cars whose paint they’ve chipped.  It seems the ugly ducklings spot their reflections and take issue with themselves.

                They have no ears but can hear, and are able to see in color, one up on Lassie.  They can hardly smell but have a great sense of taste, a faculty lost on them as they never get invited to the table unless they are minus a head.  Here’s a confidence builder for the foul fowl: in Minnesota one company is generating power from their poo. 

                If Tom, by his lonesome, doesn’t do it for you on tryptophan Thursday, order up a Turducken---a turkey, stuffed with a duck, stuffed with a chicken.  Presidents pardon select turkeys so they can live past the next weekend.  Sarah Palin, in a photo op, also pardoned a lucky stag (another name for male turkey) but apparently continued the interview unaware that a few feet behind them, the annual slaughter fest of his buddies was in full operation---anywhoooo….

                Consider the five-year-old Texas lad who learned turkey calls so well from his pet turkey,  he won a turkey calling contest.  Is that anything like the unaware Hyatt employees forced to train the people hired to replace them?  Oh, and hunters, if you’re sick of picking the shot out of your carcass, check out Season Shot-Ammo Flavor---you can simultaneously take down and spice up the bird with seasoning-stuffed shotgun shells. 

                Ya gotta feel for the birds though, they are very sensitive.  They blush when upset, can drown if they stare up into the rain and drop dead from fright if jets take off near them.  In fact, one official suggestion to the Vineyarders inundated by the bird-brains was to “speak sharply to them.”  And wouldn’t you flinch your feathers if you knew we used to make balloons from your craw and still hope to score your wishbone for good luck?

                To the rescue come the turkey sympathizers, who concocted the Tofurkey---a delish tofu alternative to Tom.  Now if they could just sculpt the product into a nice roast turkey shape.  But, vegans, you’ve got your work cut out for you because there is nothing Americans like more than their food.  However, there is one thing that might work.  If you could convince every American to hitch up a team of them thar turkeys to them thar big ol’ SUVs and run the nation on poultry power, you’ve got a chance.  Now we’re talkin’ turkey!

11/19/09