Let's Talk Turkey!

Turkey talk!  Didn't someone already say they bought their turkey for Thanksgiving?  Last night when we went to Aldi, I had every intention of buying a turkey but forgot.  Didn't have it on my list.  My lists are important, my brain is full, like a computer that needs to clear its cookies, LOL.  But, forget the cookies, let's talk turkey! 

When we went to Nashville there was a merchantile store at the top of the hill called Gobbler's Knob.  Didn't see any turkeys though, so why was it called Gobbler's Knob?  If you ever hear a male turkey with puffed up feathers, they make a strange sound....it's like a puff of air from an old putt-putt tractor mixed with a audio of humpth.

My brother Andy, had one he called Tom.  When I first heard that puffphth sound, I didn't know what I was hearing.  Didn't realize that it came from a turkey.  He was a pushy old bird.  He'd come up to see what you were all about, and if he had a notion he'd get aggressive.  You didn't turn your back on ol' Tom.

Wild turkey's inhabit French Lick, Orange County, Indiana.  You can actually spy a wild turkey there; I did, sort of.  Game hunters go there during turkey season.   I read a quote about Orange County, "Great hunting for deer, and morel mushrooms and turkey."  At French Lick we were riding the Scenic Railroad Train when I heard a loud eye-popping sound.  The windows of the old red car's side doors were open.  The train had come to a stop so it could reverse and go back to the station.  So, I could hear plainly through the windows what sounded like a bowling bowl being heaved through piles of autumn leaves.  "What's that?"  I asked the official standing nearby.  With a smile, the conducter tour guide said, "Wild turkey.  They fly through the trees."  I think my eyes got even bigger!

And that's turkey talk.  Unless you'd like to know the deacon of our church was raised on a turkey farm.  He says he got in trouble with his teacher.  She asked the class to color the fingers of their hands' outlines with various colored crayons to make turkeys.  He said, 'But turkeys are white."  

Yep.  We've all gotten in trouble with the teacher when we express our superior knowledge, right?

So, Thanksgiving is over.  The turkey, after filling us each with tryptophan for sleep, now resides in the refrigerator, all bones and no meat.  

He's chilled.  He can't talk.  If he could, he might warn, "Don't trust your online followers when they say they want you over for dinner!  Quit social media!  Be like me, go cold turkey!"