I miss the turkeys. When I had my place in the country, every afternoon in the late spring and early summer flocks of wild turkeys strolled across our property. There was a primary mama, an auntie, and about a dozen youngsters.
The males, or toms, didn’t appear until the fall. Then we’d hear them gobbling from across the street and occasionally get a glimpse of them in their puffed up finery. They were iconic; looking exactly like the Thanksgiving turkey we in the US associate with the last Thursday in November.
The most amazing wild turkey sighting was in my Florida backyard a couple years ago. I was working in my studio and a wild turkey flew (sloppily and with a great deal of feathery commotion) up on my back fence. Where he came from I never did find out.