I’m heading up to my old house shortly. Until it settles we are still the proud owners of two homes. The other house is still staged and on the market. We run up a few times a week to check on everything and get more stuff. This move I decided I would not bring EVERYTHING at one time. Didn’t want to live with a house full of boxes. Instead I go to find something and wonder what house it is in. Oh well!
I love my new home, don’t get me wrong, but I loved my old home too. This time of year in particular it is just beautiful. The gardens are blooming. The birds, the deer and the turkeys are plentiful. I always loved watching the flock of turkeys from spring through fall and winter and seeing those little chicks grow.
Below is a blog from two years ago . . . and thank God, my husband never did bag one of those turkeys.
Turkeys in the Yard
We have turkeys in our yard. Usually there is a whole flock that stop by and visit but this year there are only two. I keep wondering where their friends are. My husband thinks wild turkey would make a great dinner. I have a rule. If I name it, it’s not dinner. Sounds reasonable to me. So obviously the male is Tom. Turkeys are always Tom. We have a friend Tom. His wife’s name is Wilma. I decided I could keep the turkeys safe by naming them Tom and Wilma. Tom and Wilma are wonderful people and good friends so I’m sure my husband will not have the heart to have their name sakes for dinner.
This morning Wilma (the turkey) was in the yard. She headed down the driveway toward the street. I’m at the window calling out . . . Wilma, Wilma, stay away from the street. You don’t want to be road kill. I don’t want turkey Dinner. Just then she flew across the street. Not high, turkeys don’t fly high, but wild turkeys do fly a little. Which reminded me of my FAVORITE WKRP episode.