With Thanksgiving fast approaching and a population
explosion of wild turkeys dotting the countryside (translation: suburbs) in the
past few years, Ellen Goodman from truthdig discussed how the world and all its
inhabitants are jockeying for space:
“The wild turkey is
hardly the only creature that has learned to get along with us. As Greg Butcher
of the National Audubon Society says, “it’s a strange era where every species
is either too common or too rare.” The differential, he adds, seems to be the
creatures’ “willingness to put up with the human lifestyle.” It turns out that wild turkeys prefer to live
on the “edge,” botanically speaking …”
My Thanksgiving prep began in one of those markets where,
for a premium, you get a story with your food. Every vegetable, every creature
and every jar of jam comes with its own pedigree and memoir.
The best of these tell how the farmer and his pigs, chickens
or calves live in a sylvan idyll until the day when … well, they skip that
part. These romantic tales of the farm are directed at consumers like me, a
slightly uneasy carnivore and committed free-range turkey buyer who prefers to
imagine her Thanksgiving dinner roaming happily over the American landscape
under a clear blue sky.
Of course, I am aware that the USDA definition of
“free-range” means that the turkey only has to be “allowed access to the
outside,” even if it’s too institutionalized to actually waddle through a door.
Nevertheless, it deserve a story. Maybe even a DVD.
Now those of you who do not live in the Bay Colony where the
first Thanksgiving was held, the home of Plymouth Rock and Red Sox Nation, may be
surprised to learn that in the past few years, they have had either (1) a
population explosion or (2) a plague of wild turkeys.
Nationally, the restoration of the wild turkey has been a
wild success story, up from 350,000 in 1950 to somewhere more than 3 million
today. Massachusetts was fresh out of this game until 1972, when 37
turkeys were trucked over the border, released in the wilderness and promptly
began to beget. There are now 20,000 more turkeys.
But who knew that these birds would take to urban and
suburban life? Who knew that these 4-foot-tall, 20- pound would be found
gobbling around backyards, hanging out near Starbucks, and roosting—look, a
flying mattress!—in the trees. Who knew they would make routine appearances on
the police blotter for behaving like, well, turkeys?
I attribute their occasional aggressiveness to the fact that
the toms were originally from New York. I attribute their easy life to the fact
that you can’t wield a 10-gauge shotgun within range of a streetcar. Their only
natural enemies, if you don’t count the postman, are automobiles and the shiny
bumpers that reflect back their own worst nightmare.
The wild turkey is hardly the only creature that has learned
to get along with us. As Greg Butcher of the National Audubon Society says,
“it’s a strange era where every species is either too common or too rare.” The
differential, he adds, seems to be the creatures’ “willingness to put up with
the human lifestyle.” It turns out that wild turkeys prefer to live on the
“edge,” botanically speaking.
My tale of two turkeys—the free-range bird on my order pad
and the wild turkeys—is an example of the odd evolving relationship between
human and other nature. On the one hand, there is a growing premium on domestic
animals that live more naturally. On the other hand, there is an explosion of wild
animals living more tamely.
Consider a third turkey, the one at the White House. No,
really. There has been an annual ceremony for a turkey. The creature, raised
“using normal feeding and other production techniques”—say what?— received a presidential pardon, although it is unclear
what crime he committed.
When the ceremony was over, what was the fate of the liberated
poultry? It’s something that would make Jon Stewart’s writers long to cross the
picket line. This turkey will be flown. First class. To Disney World. There, he
will live out his, um, natural days as an exhibit in the backyard of Mickey’s
Country House in Magic Kingdom Park. Meanwhile, the president will undoubtedly
be dining on another free-range turkey.
When it comes to figuring out our place in nature, I have
begun to think that we’re all living on the edge. Maybe Ben Franklin was right
when he said that the wild turkey—not the bald eagle—should be our national
bird.
After all, the eagle, in all of its restored glory, soars
majestically above the fray. But the turkey is down here, gobbling, squabbling
and flourishing, while we try to figure out our place in the pecking order.
Happy Thanksgiving.
