Gobble! Gobble!
The
Wild Turkey Makes a Comeback
On fall and winter mornings, thirty-four wild turkeys visit
my yard in New York State. They are on their way from the
forest above my house to the open field below.
They stop to peck at the sunflower seeds under the bird feeder. Making putt-putt sounds, they flap into the crab-apple tree to nibble on a fruit snack. Then they scratch around corn.
Sometimes the turkeys take a shortcut from the forest on the hill to the field, gliding over my roof like wide-bodied airplanes. Wild turkeys might look too big and awkward to move quickly, but their strong wings allow them to fly as fast as fifty miles per hour for short distances.
In the late afternoon the flock makes the return trip up the hill. If I open my door to say hello, the birds trot into the woods. Their legs are skinny, but turkeys can sprint when they’re startled.
Safe
in the Woods
Once they reach the woods, the turkeys are hard to spot.
Their dark feathers blend in with the brown tree trunks
and the leaf-covered ground. They are easier to see when
the ground is covered with snow. At night they roost in
the trees, safe from foxes, coyotes, and large owls.
My feathered neighbors usually announce their visits. Wild turkeys have thirty different calls, including purrs, yelps, clucks, and cackles. They make special calls if they get separated from the flock, when they spot a predator, and while they fly. Gobbles are mating calls made only by male turkeys.
The flock that visits my yard during fall and winter is made up of several females, or hens, and the young turkeys hatched the previous summer. The adult males, called toms, spend the winter in a separate flock. As winter ends, both kinds of flocks break into smaller groups. That’s when the show begins!
A
Tom Dances
On
a spring day, I watch out my window as a tom performs
his mating dance. When he puffs out his chest and spreads
his tail feathers, he looks like a Thanksgiving decoration.
But the tom isn’t posing for the camera. By strutting
and gobbling, he hopes to attract the attention of the
hens.
After mating with a tom, a hen lays about ten to twelve eggs in a simple nest of dry leaves on the ground. She sits on the nest for a month, leaving it only to feed on nearby plants. This is a dangerous time. Skunks, opossums, raccoons, and snakes often eat the eggs.
By midsummer I see a hen leading her young, called poults, through my yard. The poults move in a single file as if they’re playing follow-the-leader. Soon they disappear into the field among the tall grasses and wildflowers.
The hen watches cautiously for predators. When she spots one, she makes a soft warning call to the poults, who silently freeze so that the predator doesn’t see or hear them. If a hawk is flying overhead, the hen’s call is different. Then the young quickly take cover under leaves or sticks.
If a predator attacks, the hen gives a loud distress call as she rushes toward it. Meanwhile, the poults scatter and hide.
The mother’s screams and sudden motion often scare off the attacker. Fortunately, the poults are able to fly within two weeks of hatching. By flying into trees, they have a better chance of escaping predators.
As the year goes by, I see dozens of turkeys near my house. Early settlers saw even more. When Europeans arrived in the New World, nearly ten million wild turkeys lived in the North American forests. Then people overhunted the tasty bird and cleared away trees to make farms and towns. By the 1930s, the wild-turkey population had dropped to fewer than thirty thousand birds, and people rarely spotted one.
Starting in the 1950s, wildlife experts worked to rebuild the turkey population. They restricted hunting and moved turkeys to wooded habitats where the birds could breed more easily.
The
turkeys thrived. Today more than five million wild turkeys
roam North America from Canada to Mexico. They live in every
state except Alaska.
Although wild turkeys were once close to extinction, they
have adapted well to areas that contain a combination of
trees and open space. They can be found in rural woodlands
and meadows and sometimes in suburban neighborhoods. Maybe
you’ll see a wild turkey near your home, too.
If Ben Franklin had had his way, the wild turkey would have been our national bird.
In 1782, the Congress of the Confederation voted to make the bald eagle the national emblem of the United States. Two years later Franklin wrote to his daughter: “I wish the Bald Eagle had not been chosen as the Representative of our country . . . the Turk’y is in comparison a much more respectable Bird, and withal a true original Native of America. Eagles have been found in all Countries, but the Turk’y was peculiar to ours. . . . ”
The other Founding Fathers felt that the bald eagle was a better symbol of freedom and power. This is the bird that we see on quarters, dollars, and the great seal of the United States.
Even though it is not our national emblem, the turkey is still important. It represents our American holiday Thanksgiving.
