Our house is on a hill named Turkey Hill. It's a small hill, just 351 feet according to the USGS. At the top of the hill is a blue water tower, and depending on how clear it is, you can see this from as far away as Porter Square in Cambridge, six miles away.
We have lived here since the mid-1990s, but in the last few years we've been seeing wild turkeys. They seem to be coming from the hill that is their namesake. Wild turkeys! Walking, pecking and hop-jumping up and down our low fence and into our yard.
They seem to always travel in groups, and they seem to have a regular schedule of walking past our door. For a few months we saw two large turkeys and a baby turkey, and we named the little one Tetrazinni. After a while the little one stopped showing up and we made up a story that it went off to turkey college.
The best part of watching them is seeing them take flight. I learned that domesticated turkeys are too heavy to fly, but wild turkeys can fly. At the end of our yard is a steep ledge surrounded by trees. Depending on their mood, they will sometimes fly down to the bottom, parachuting with their wings gently waving. Other times they will flap their wings hard, and they will rise slowly to the branches near the tree tops. They seem quite tired when they get to the top.
I like my turkey neighbors!
Monday, September 30, 2019
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