is the word 'diary' better than the word 'blog'? probably not.
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Wild Turkey Times Two or Three.
Wild Turkey Times Two or Three.
This morning I chased wild turkeys around my backyard while it was snowing! And that is not a metaphor! I was trying to get a photo of them. For YOU. However, let it be known: wild turkeys are nervous creatures.
On the left you can see some turkey-blobs, one in front of the barn and another making an exit stage right. On the left you can see the turkey-flock-blob making its communal way way away from me. The white blobs that look like the I was working with flawed film stock are actually floating snowflakes on their way to the ground.
Anyway, I woke up, looked out the window to admire the falling snow, and there they were! A whole flock of wild turkeys, turkey-necking their way all over my yard. So I ran downstairs in my pajamas and parka with the polaroid camera. But they did not want to be friends.
Tonight I will be drinking bourbon (possibly Wild Turkey) with wine-and-ice-cream for his birthday. I think he is going to force me to play Scrabble. Oh well. I hate board games but am a good sport, especially on someone else's birthday.
Today I am making bourbon truffles and writing lectures. There is a lot more snow now. It is sticking to the ground.
Marilyn was right. It actually gets warmer when it snows.
I just went to the window to check on how much snow there is, and THE TURKEYS ARE BACK. Here is a photo of three of them that I took from my kitchen window.
I know. It is not so exciting. But I'm a city girl. And there is not much in the way of excitement in Amherst, Mass. I'll take what I can get.
Here is a turkey-related anecdote that I put in my SPEP commentary that may or may not make its way into McSweeney's. (If it doesn't make it to McS, I'll post the entries here, because some of them are really funny.) The anecdote:
As a man named Max and I stepped up to the bar for more bourbon, it became clear that there was only enough left for one drink. He graciously handed it to me, and I thanked him with an enthusiasm far outweighing what the situation required. I then admitted that life in Amherst, Mass., does not admit of much bourbon drinking. In fact, the only Wild Turkey I had seen of late was the one I almost hit with my car when I was driving on a rural highway somewhere between North Amherst and Montague, MA. Someone made a comment about how at least that was some wildlife I could identify. HaHaHa Jill knows Wild Turkey. My retort was that I am from San Francisco. If the wild turkey had been wearing leather chaps and a chest harness, THEN maybe I would have recognized it as wildlife. But when I almost hit the poor slow-moving creature that looked like some sort of avian dinosaur, I had no idea it was a TURKEY. No. None at all. I only came to know this when I described the incident later to some Amherst friends, who calmly advised me that the beast I had encountered was not a prehistoric animal who had some how managed to live all these millennia undetected, like Nessie in Loch Ness. No. It was a turkey. A wild turkey.
2:02 p.m. - November 12, 2004
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