Turkey, RUN!!!

"There are lots of people who mistake their imagination for their memory." 

- Josh Billings

This however is not one of those cases.  This is pure memory and I love it so.

Growing up in a small town, I walked to my middle school, but rode the bus to elementary and high school.  Every day for three long years, I had my choice of which streets I wanted to walk to school on.  The route almost always varied depending on how early or late I was getting out the door. 

One particular route that almost came as a challenge for me.  Not because it had a difficult hill or anything like that, but because just far enough back from the street was a little farmette.  The owners a near elderly couple (the Swansons) of the property had taken pride in raising calves, chickens, ducklings, geese, and turkeys. 

I had always been curious about the farm growing up how could I not be.  They lived so close to town, within eyesight of the main road, yet were like they were in their own little paradise. I couldn't bring myself to walk up their lane as I've heard stories of kids being shooed away by Mr. Swanson with a 20 gauge.  As my interest peaked about the farm, I studied the daily routine from afar in the summer months.  I finally figured out just how I could approach Mrs. Swanson.  I soon noticed the mail came like clockwork every day around 1 pm.  So I watched and waited, as soon as I saw the postman delivering at the first mailbox, I would ride my bike down the road where I knew Mrs. Swanson would be waiting. 

Each day for almost three weeks I would ride by and say "Hi" to Mrs. Swanson, make the normal small talk about the weather and be on my way.  Finally after some time of doing this, I finally had the nerve to ask if I could come see her farm.  She said sure, that she didn't have many visitors and would be happy to show me around. So up the lane I pushed my bike as we walked my anticipation grew.  I expected it to be of a magical place really, probably because of the mystery I had built up in my own mind. 

Once there, she showed me around, the calves in the pasture, the chickens in the hen house, the ducklings and geese by the creek bed and then we came to the turkeys.  I had never seen such a huge turkey in my life.  I thought it was the tom because well, males tend to generally be the larger of the two, but these were hens.  I couldn't believe my eyes.  Normally the turkeys were held in a fenced in area of the yard so I stood on the opposite side of the gate and stared in awe.  That ended my day at the farm along with a "Don't be scared to stop by whenever you like." from Mrs. Swanson.  So on occasion on my way home from school throughout the 5th grade I'd stop by and see Mrs. Swanson just to say hello and to see if she needed help with anything. 

Then come 6th grade, I started walking past her home on my way to school.  About half way through the school year after Mr. Swanson's passing part of the fence had been broke that kept the turkeys confined and they were now roaming free in her front yard.  Mean little suckers they were and boy could they run.  Who knew?  I sure didn't.  So one day I stopped by to see how Mrs. Swanson was doing and the damn turkeys chased me all the way down the lane.  After that day, on my way to school, I would always be a little more cautious and aware of where the turkeys were.  If you saw them out in the pasture you knew you had time to get past them, but if you could see them in her lane or her front yard, you turned down the and took the alley way near by. 

On more than one occasion the little buggers would sneak up on you.  They would make their way just below the bridge that crossed over the creek and with the hillside so steep you couldn't see them until it was too late.  I'll never forget walking with another neighborhood girl to school the time one hen popped her head out and saw us.  The next thing I remember is me yelling "Turkey, RUN!!"  If they got close enough they would peck/bite you and it HURT.  That day the hen chased us the entire quarter mile to the school. 

Now you may ask why am I even bothering to tell this blurb of a memory, but there is reason behind my thought process.  Every day on my way to work, or if I visit my mother, I still drive by Mrs. Swanson's property, but today was the first time in a long time, I've actually taken a moment to remember it fondly. 

Sadly now, I'm not even sure if Mrs. Swanson is still the owner of the property or if she's even alive anymore.  The farmette is a little beaten and worn.  The occasion cow or horse in the pasture, but no chickens seen near the barn doors, no ducklings or geese in the creek bed, and no turkeys to chase you away from the lane.  It looks very sad to me.  Perhaps it's because I have such fond memories, or maybe its just the feeling it gives off now in the dead of winter. 

So I suppose the reason behind this post is just a little reminder to remember those things that made you smile as a child, that can now warm your heart as an adult.  You  forget all too quickly how much something you deem insignificant can change your whole day around.

Silence - Friend or Foe?

When a moment of quiet washes over me, sometimes I feel relief, but other times it sends me into a panic.  Something about the silence changes me, depending on my present mood.  There's a difference in comparison of my good and bad days to most others.  I can be stressed to my very limit, I could get into an argument with my husband, the kids can be driving me crazy, I could have a screw up at work, and all of that combined, as long as I'm not thinking about me, those are my good days.  My bad days, on the outside all can be well, nothing out of the ordinary, it's the thought process that's running through my mind.  If I can't get away from myself, then to me, it's a bad day.  A day I wasn't able to block my own thoughts.

On my good days, silence is an end all.  It seems to assist in the bad, wearing me down, and bringing me in, nearly like a black hole, it seems futile to even try to stop it.  But on my bad days, silence is my sanctuary.  It's a little weird how it works.  I don't like to be alone in my head, thinking only of myself.  It allows for too much self revelation and exploration, and about 90% of the time, I don't like what I find.  So when everything is hectic, and there's no time for me, but I still manage to be able to focus my energy on everyone else, well that comes as a relief to me. 

So little time is given to the silence for me, in my day to day world.  It's only in a moment of desperation I beg, plead, demand my quiet.  It's solace and comfort to quiet the inner chattering of my mind, is a dear friend.  But silence for me on a good day, only brings pain, pain I feel so deeply inside, I crave to feel it literally.  I've mostly moved past my old habits and ways, but it doesn't mean that the desire and want is not there.  I think it always will be as long as there is silence on a good day.