Thanks, Ruth: A Short Story about My First Turkey

                                            Thanks, Ruth:  A Short Story About My First Turkey

Squeezing out time to go turkey hunting was not what I thought would happen during retirement. Yet here I was with two days available to get a late start to the season. Not only that, but I was getting a late start on the day itself. 

Two days earlier, I had gotten my second Covid shot. The exhaustion and headache hit the following afternoon. I had to concede and tell my husband, Mark, that going up to the farm that night was probably not a good idea. I knew a good night’s sleep was what I needed in order to be able to trounce around the woods. I told him I’d drive up early, well my kind of early, the next day.

When the alarm went off at six, I was still groggy. But mostly, I am not a morning person.  A couple times hitting the snooze, and I crawled out of bed. I had packed nearly everything the night before and even loaded it in the car. Knowing my aversion to morning, this is always the best plan so that I don’t forget something important. I thought I’d be able to get ready and go. As I headed out the door, I looked at my plants that had spent the last two nights in the house because of the unexpected late April freeze. I knew they needed sunshine and the rain that was coming that evening. So running late or not, they were a priority. The birds would have to wait just a bit longer. Nearly twenty trips in and out later, and I was ready to hit the road. 

As I drove through Hermann, nearly to the farm, my phone dinged. Mark wanted to know, “Have you left yet?” After 30 years of marriage, he’s grudgingly accepted my morning aversion. I started to tell Siri to call him back, when my phone dinged again. There was a picture of a nice turkey laying on the tailgate. The incredibly gorgeous morning that I had been admiring on my drive just got a bit brighter. My excitement level went up and the last miles to the farm couldn’t go by quick enough.

I could barely get out of the car before Mark and our friend, Dale, were gushing about the numerous gobbles sounding throughout the valley. The birds had been rather quiet the preceding days. I guess they hadn’t enjoyed the unexpected morning freeze either. Now they were out in full force and letting everyone know.

Mark’s bird was a large gobbler with a 7 inch beard and nice spurs. He recanted each moment of the hunt as I pulled on my coveralls and grabbed my gun and shells. His excitement was catching and I couldn’t wait to get in the woods. The plan was to head out to the same area where he had been successful that morning.

As we crossed the creek into the first field, he gently reminded me to talk quietly. He and our son, Nick are always getting on me about my loud voice in the woods. Of course I just rolled my eyes. But this late morning, I was anxious to get my first turkey. So quiet it would be. I bit my lip and reminded myself to whisper.

Nearing the long field, we both spotted movement. Mark pulled out his binoculars and confirmed the turkey was a male. He motioned for me to follow him and whispered that we would head into the woods and go above and around it. I tried stepping lightly so as not to make much noise. Several times my chair I was carrying got stuck on a shrub or my coveralls were grabbed by thorn bushes. Following Mark through the woods is not easy. I’d learned over the years that he doesn’t take the easiest routes nor does he care how many brambles we encounter. He always warns me, albeit a bit late, about the branch flying back in my direction. But this morning, my excitement of getting to a good spot outweighed my normal aggravation.

Climbing the muddy slope of the creek, I slipped and frantically grabbed the closest tree. I scrambled up and turned to grab my gun back from Mark. As he hauled himself to the top, I heard the putting of turkeys. “Shhhh!” I whispered. "Did you hear that?” Mark paused and we both heard the turkeys putting nearby. He whispered that we’d go a bit further up and around. Part of me wanted to just head to the clearing in front of us. I knew we were making quite a bit of noise, and I wasn’t completely sold on his choice of paths. But I kept my mouth shut and followed behind. 

Finally after climbing up the next hill and then walking halfway back down, Mark told me to set up against the tree in the cover of the small scrub in front. He went downhill and placed the decoy. I looked around. There were great sight lines to the field below and open shooting lanes. I’d have a great shot if turkeys were drawn to us by the decoy or Mark’s calling. 

I adjusted my seat as level as possible. Then dug my left heel in the soft ground to brace myself. I checked the safety and the shells, and laid the gun across my lap. Last year, I had missed a large tom. He had entered the field, but never really stopped to give me a good shot. I had been so anxious that I had rushed it. This year I was determined to not make the same mistake. 

I took a deep breath and tried to just relax and enjoy the quiet and beauty all around. The white dogwoods were in full bloom. Their blossoms bathing in the sun. The gnarled branches of other trees were naked of leaves. The ground was a brown carpet of last year's foilage. A weed, tuft of grass, or moss showed through in spots adding some color to the woods. 

Behind me, Mark tested the surroundings with a few short calls. I yearned to hear a putt or gobble. But nothing answered. I gazed out in the field and the nearby brush for a hint of something. I looked closely at every larger dark shape hoping to see it move. I knew we had probably scared off the birds we had heard earlier. Now the waiting began. Who knew how long we’d have to sit hoping some turkeys  would join us.

I looked around for interesting things to photograph. My camera was in my bag, but we hadn’t been sitting long enough for me to risk the noise and commotion of getting it out. “Patience. Just wait,” I kept telling myself. A flutter in the white dogwood caught my eye. A red bird had landed on a skinny branch. It stood out in stark contrast against the flowers. “Now that’s a cool picture,” I thought.

My next thought though was, “Good Morning, Ruth.” I smiled watching the Cardinal hop to another branch. Dale’s mom, Ruth, had passed away last year. This was our first turkey season without her, and we all missed her dearly. A sense of calm came over me. I truly felt that she was right there. I watched as the bird hung around, jumped to another twig, and then flew off.

I shifted my glance back to the field. My heart jumped! I thought I saw something move. I peered closely at the spot. Then I saw it again. Definitely a turkey! I motioned to Mark and pointed. I whispered, “There’s a turkey across the field.” He made a few short calls. “Yelp, yelp.” I peered closely and realized that there were two birds! At this distance, I couldn’t tell what they were. My heart pounded as I willed them to gobble back, or at least head our way.

The birds kept going in and out of view behind the larger trees skirting the field. I motioned to Mark, “Two birds.” He made a short call, and we waited. They were definitely coming our way. I raised my gun and my right knee to a shooting position. I gazed down the barrel just to check what kind of shot I might have soon. The birds drew closer as they meandered through the field. Finally, they began to climb the hill to my left. Mark started calling again, but I waved at him to stop. 

I wasn’t sure that he was seeing the birds as well as me. I didn’t want them scared off. I also knew that I had but a few seconds to adjust my gun. I needed to move it to the left. I waited until the closest  turkey was behind a tree and shifted. But the bush in front was not giving me a clear shot. I lowered my gun as slowly as possible. I glanced at the birds. I was shocked to see not two, but four young turkeys! 

I repositioned my gun above a small branch. “Please help me get this bird, Ruth,” I thought. The turkeys climbed the hill at a good pace. I watched the one in the lead. As soon as he came from behind a tree, I looked for a beard. There it was! About 4 inches long. I knew it was now or never. I breathed out slowly and aimed the bead on the end of the gun at his head. He paused, glanced my way, and I pulled the trigger. Kaboom! 

As the deafening sound echoed through the woods, the other birds jumped and flew off pounding their wings. The first bird lay flopping on the ground. “I did it!” I yelled! 

Mark jumped up, “Yes!” We high-fived as the bird flopped down the hill aways. “I wasn’t sure you got it when I saw those other ones flying off. But then I saw it flopping on the ground! Good job!” 

“Thanks!” I beamed. Adrenaline rushed through me as we went to check on my turkey. The colors of the feathers shimmered in the sun. I studied the blue and red head and stroked the bristly beard. I checked the short spurs. A young jake, but not too shabby for my first turkey. I couldn’t quit smiling, but neither could Mark. I’m not sure who was more excited! Of course the first thing I asked was, “Where can we take a good picture?”

We gathered up our hunting gear. I took the chair and decoy, so Mark would carry the turkey for me. We walked to the creek and decided to take pictures among the bright mustard yellow flowers. I fanned out the tail, made sure the beard was showing, and beamed. I picked up the turkey to see if I could carry it. Being short, it hung nearly to the ground. Mark snapped a few more pictures as I smiled and whispered, “Thanks, Ruth.”

We headed back to the shed. “It’s pretty cool that we both got one! And I didn’t have to get up as early as you did!” I bragged. Mark just gave me that look that was as good as an eye roll. I was eager to share my prize with Dale. One of the first things I told him was how I had seen the Cardinal and thought about his mom. I shared that I had hoped somehow she’d help me get my first bird. Dale’s not normally a person of few words, so when he didn’t say much, I knew it must have touched him.

We took more photos with the rustic gray barn in the background. A few husband and wife photos as well proudly displaying our birds. In the past, Ruth would have happily joined us for photos. Many of those hung in the shed showing her joy of a successful hunt; especially for the girls. This time, Dale joined us in the pictures. We wanted to continue that tradition.

My day was complete when I received texts from my kids. “Whooo, Congrats, Mom!!” “Way to go mom!!” and “So cool! What a fun day!” Yes, it was a fun day! I’m always thankful for every opportunity to enjoy nature, and share these special moments with family and friends. Thanks again, Ruth.