It’s OK to call a group of wild turkeys a flock, but another name for such a gathering is “rafter.”
Allow me to describe an encounter I had earlier this week with a very populous rafter.
On a sunny afternoon with the temperature at about 50 degrees, I was in my pickup truck coming out of the driveway at the forested and secluded property where my wife Wendy and I reside. When I reached the point where the driveway meets the gravel road, I saw six wild turkeys trotting in single file toward the north, and I decided to follow them.
When I got in behind them, they were clearly accelerating in an effort to join a much larger group, because I found myself trailing a really, really big rafter. There had to be about 20 of the big birds, and I was almost giggling as I watched them.
What happened next made me feel like I was in the midst of a military exercise. As the battalion detected an enemy presence (my truck), its members split into two equal units, as if each one was trained to follow a preassigned plan. It was like each sub-group was a platoon following a sergeant, as one bunch went into the woods at about 10 o’clock and the other at 2 o’clock.
I envisioned that the original half dozen I had seen consisted of two engineers and four medics trailing the general infantry.
I carefully pulled my truck forward in hopes of getting a photo of at least some of the soldiers. But as I neared the positions of the two platoons, I witnessed a classic example of that secret turkeys always protect, as they all flew away through the trees, one group to the east and the other to the west.
I have no doubt they all reconnected in the near future, and the sergeants asked for updates and intel from their subordinates.
I was reminded about how I wrote about that flying thing in the past. I find it fascinating how turkeys obviously prefer to have their feet in contact with the ground, but they can wing-it big time when they’re led to.
The memorable sighting was made a bit more interesting due to a couple of factors.
One was that I had heard quite a bit of gobbling emanating from the Big Piney River valley a few mornings earlier when I had let Scotty (the Scottie) out and took a look at the outdoor thermometer (which by the way was in the 20s). Hearing that sound is always so funny. Scotty heard it, too, and lifted his snout in the direction of the sound as if to gather information about the situation.
The second was the fact that a day or two earlier, I had been describing turkey encounters over the years with Wendy’s aunt and two uncles who were in town from Georgia. They see plenty of deer down their way, but not turkeys, so they thought it was pretty cool that we get to see them now and then.
Anyway, I find wild turkeys to be such amazing, majestic and downright beautiful animals, and I think it’s safe to say that this bunch was totally meant to be part of my schedule as laid out by God. Sometimes, it’s all about the timing.
Another thing I was reminded of by this incident is how thankful I am to live in Texas County, Missouri, where wildlife can still be seen in abundance.
Doug Davison is a writer, photographer and newsroom assistant for the Houston Herald. Email: ddavison@houstonherald.com.