Turkey Trot

My brother Kevin was a long distance runner in high school and college. In fact, his mile and two-mile records at Sandpoint High School stood for a couple of decades before Kirk Quillan and Angus Travers came along in the 1980s and broke them.

Kevin went to state for three consecutive years and even ran against Rogers High School Olympian Jerry Lindgren at a couple of his meets. Jerry Lindgren, definitely a regional, national and world phenomenon back in the early 1960s, left his competitors behind about 2 seconds off the start, but my tall, lanky brother usually led the rest of the pack.

After graduating from Sandpoint High School, Kevin continued his track career at Columbia Basin College while living with our Aunt Mary Jane who taught math at the college. I believe he won the school turkey trot two years in a row. I know he won it at least once because while I was visiting him in Pasco, he took me to the school trophy case to see his name engraved on the Turkey Trot plaque.

I always liked that name, "turkey trot, "but just five minutes ago, I saw the real thing: turkeys trotting from Taylor's field down South Center Valley Road. I think Kevin may have been able to lead their pack because they definitely were trotting and not racing with those big, long strides that he used to demonstrate. These turkeys had come from Finney's field into Taylors, and I was sure at the moment that they were bound for the Lovestead.

My confidence in their upcoming visit evolved from a telephone call I received yesterday at the Bonner Mall. Just as Jon Brownell's talented choir lined up in a semi-circle around my mother to serenade her in song, the phone rang. It was Bill.

"Marianne, we had turkeys at the deer feeder," he announced. "Then, they came to the house right past the sliding glass door. Festus sat inside the door watching them." This happened to be Bill's first sighting of any wildlife near the spot I mentioned earlier this week where I had set up a box of deer feed and a flake of alfalfa, which had gotten wet from rain dripping through a door crack where it was stored.

He watched as they enjoyed their handouts and then walked along their way. One spent five minutes in the dog kennel not far from the house, simply because it figured out how to go in but not out. Bill kept relating the turkey story as Jon cued up his choir. Finally, I asked if he wanted to listen over the cell phone to "I'll Be Home for Christmas," the carol Mother had chosen from a choice of three.

Bill said he'd already seen Jon and his lovely singers at the CO-OP open house, so he declined and hung up. He had just wanted to call me and talk a little turkey. So, I made the immediate transition from turkeys investigating our dog kennel to young women enriching an older woman's day with their gifts of musical talent. I worked with Jon Brownell for a number of years at Sandpoint High School and have always marveled at the magnificence he produces with his students every year.

After the carol, Jon asked them to pull out their chimes and perform another magical sound as Mother and a host of other mall visitors remained transfixed while listening to the beautiful sounds. Jon told me that yesterday was the first time they'd done this number from memory. I don't think they missed a note; it was exquisite. The music made me completely forget the turkeys until this morning when I saw a telltale head and neck peeping above the snowbank across the road.

I yelled to Bill, who was in the bathroom, that the turkeys were coming, the turkeys were coming. I'd just filled the box with food for Pointer Deer, knowing full well that he's going to have to learn to share. The turkeys stood for a while at the end of our driveway but chose not to enter. Instead they just trotted down South Center Valley Road.

"They'll come back," I thought as I came upstairs to write about them. This posting was to the point of Bill's cell phone call of yesterday when suddenly, "Marianne, they're by the spruce trees." I ran downstairs. By that time several had arrived at the box. A gobbler named Tom hovered over the box taking up just enough room that only one of his subordinates could insert its head and neck beneath his body to grab a bite.

So, I've seen my first real turkey trot, and I'm guessing Tom is the winner for today's race. I'm guessing if there's a plaque out there in the woods somewhere, his name will appear on it several times in the future. I'm also guessing I'll hear from another Turkey Trot winner about how we oughta not let such a thing get started so close to our yard.

For now, we'll enjoy the novelty and worry about where to hide the goodies far, far from the house on another day.