The many plumage cycles of the T-bird

One of many things that i am VERY thankful for this time of year is the ability to grow some of our own food. i can't speak for the kidd-os, but it makes me appreciate what we eat (and that we can eat) all the more.

The children tend to think that i am nuts anyway. . .. . . but i try to remind them of the importance of food, respecting it, knowing where it came from and how it was grown.

So sit down little children and i will tell you the tale of this thanksgiving's bird. . .

A long time ago, in a spring that seems impossibly far away (especially since it is snowing outside right now) on a farm in the mid west, a mumma turkey laid some eggs. The eggs sat in a warm location (probably an incubator) until some tapping and movement told the farm hands that little our little baby turkeys were about to hatch.

These baby turkeys (chicks) were double checked for health and divided by breed. They were then put into a box and shipped to our post office. Baby turkeys can go for three days without food because just before they hatch the drink up what is left of the yolk in there shell (and i always thought it was just to make more room). The box full of babies is taken by the postman and delivered to our local post office where we pick them up and take them home.

Because we live two feet south of the arctic circle, we have to pick up our chicks from the post office as soon as they get there. Because these are not wild turkeys and they aren't with their mother, they are not well suited to live outside. So. . .

. . . we end up with extra housemates for six weeks. Over all it isn't a bad experience. They are little and cute and make adorable little "peeps". They live in a relatively small enclosure and keep at a toasty 90 degrees. . . while the rest of us freeze (there is still snow on the ground).

We establish rules early on about where to sleep and eat, and who does the dishes. But it's like having children and eventually our little "friends" decide that they are not content with their new digs. . .
. . . and so they work together and break outta the clink. This is not terribly disturbing save for their total disregard for the wonders of modern sanitation. While turkey pooh properly composted makes a fabulous fertilizer, it is not nearly as welcome all over the breezeway.

At this point they are losing the down that helps them look sooo very cute and they start developing feathers. They also commit the heinous crime of growing. They get bigger and less cute. . . and bigger and more stinky. . . and bigger and louder. . . and bigger and better at escaping. . . and bigger, and messier. Eventually the crimes pile up to the sky and we have no choice but to send them. . .




















. . . to the big house.

And they were happy! It seems that turkeys are not at all suited for civilized living and much prefer to run in the grass and eat bugs and whatnot. Still, they expect us to feed them, and they ate. . .


















. . . and they ate. . .
. . . and they grew. . .

. . . and they grew. . .

Until finally came that fateful day. The garden had long since past. All of the greens had been consumed. The corn, carrots, and broccoli all blanched and frozen. All that remained were the pumpkins, gourds, and the now remains of a small corn forest, brown and dried. The only living remnants of a wannabe farm were those pterodactyl sized creatures roaming in the pen outback. Their appetite unappeasable - 150 lbs of food a week. The time was drawing near for all of God's people to give thanks for all of the taste morsels that he had given us.

And so we took a long car ride to a small building in a town far away, where a small number our feathery friends, led by their captain "buddy" met the maker. . . and their processor too. . .

We know they had a good life. They were loved, and tended too. Aloud to run and fly (as best they could). They didn't suffer the unimaginable cruelty of growing up on a corporate farm in unspeakable conditions. No Buddy and his friends had the best of feed and kindest of caretakers. Then were loved then. . .

. . . and they are loved now.

And we are thankful for all of the good, and tasty, things that God has given us!