Tuesday, April 29, 2014

This weather's a different kind of turkey

Let's try to put our delightful Spring weather in perspective. We live in Minnesota where, "Due to its location in the northern plains of the United States its climate is one of extremes." July is the only month for which we don't have recorded snow. I'm curious to gain insight into what climate change may do to our existing climate of extremes. What is extreme squared? All of this has been triggered by this morning's snowfall and the promise threat of more tomorrow. Some of us have been contemplating turkey hunting, but the prospect of frostbite and chilblains is causing second thoughts about even the second week in May. I wonder if this weather diminishes the degree of amore felt by one of these guys.

young turkey gobbler
young turkey gobbler                      © harrington

What's the point of trying to call a gobbler if you're shaking and shivering too much to even attempt a shot? As we start to close out National Poetry Month, let's see what Paul Zimmer has for hopes and dreams for wild turkeys.

A Romance for the Wild Turkey

They are so cowardly and stupid
Indians would not eat them
For fear of assuming their qualities.

The wild turkey always stays close
To home, flapping up into trees
If alarmed, then falling out again.
When shot it explodes like a balloon
Full of blood. It bathes by grinding
Itself in coarse dirt, is incapable
Of passion or anger, knows only
Vague innocence and extreme caution,
Walking around in underbrush
Like a cantilevered question mark,
Retreating at least hint of danger.

I hope when the wild turkey
Dreams at night it flies high up
In gladness under vast islands
Of mute starlight, its silhouette
Vivid in the full moon, guided always
By radiant configurations, high
Over chittering fields of corn
And the trivial fires of men,
Never to land again nor be regarded
As fearful, stupid, and unsure.  

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