The day started out with blue skies, but then scudding across a milky sky, charcoal clouds closed in on the farm on that day, the first week of November.
Farmer Brown did not arrive with the morning feed and the turkeys clustered along the fencing which faced the farm house, where the lights were on. The feeding always took place at 9 AM, but not this day, and by 11 AM the birds were becoming irritable and several fights broke out. A hungry bird is a testy bird.
Just before noon a low rumbling began and grew louder and louder until its source appeared: A fifteen foot silver truck ground slowly down the road and pulled up in front of the pig barn. It had a huge red and gold star painted on its long walls: "Gold Star Market."
Seeing that, Brooks remarked, "That is the same logo that man had on the back of his jacket. The man Farmer Brown was talking to the other day."
None of the other turkeys could make that connection.
Members of Farmer Brown's family, his three teen aged daughters, walked out of the farmhouse, wearing blue jeans and brown rubber aprons which reached below their knees and they walked to the far side of the van and disappeared behind it.
The hired men, wearing similar aprons, drove up in a pickup truck and jumped down and several entered the silver truck from the door on the near side, and one stood in the door and three formed a line in front of the truck from the door to the road.
Finally, Farmer Brown walked out of his front door, down the road to the turkey field and he spoke in a booming voice.
"You are all winners today!" he shouted. "So white and big breasted. This farm has had its best year in history. Believe me. And we want to mark the greatest flock of turkeys ever with a special celebration. Come one and all, the lines are wrapping around the block!"
The troika turkeys, Sean, Rush and Rupert led the procession, walking across the road and down toward the covered bridge to the silver truck and up the stairs where each turkey was hoisted through the door by the hired men.
Toward the end of the long line Brooks, Chamberlain and Will straggled along behind. As they passed the goat pen, the goats seemed most intent on not looking at them, not even Delphi, who was normally the most responsive goat, met their eyes.
Only the old goat looked up and followed the line of turkeys with his eyes, and he met the eyes of each of turkeys who had visited the goats with a strange and steady look.
The pigs were gathered in their sty. They had their own field on the north side, but this day, they remained corralled. They looked at the turkeys pass by and grunted amongst themselves in a low, not unfriendly, but not a happy murmur.
The chickens were nowhere to be seen, which was unusual, as they were always underfoot.
From behind the truck Rush, Rupert and Sean emerged and headed back up the road toward the turkey field.
"Oh, you'll love it," Rush cackled.
"Best party ever" said Sean.
"Winners," Rupert said. "Every one."
But from within the truck a grinding, whirring sound was audible.
And a stench gradually filled the road.
The closer Brooks and his two friends got to the truck, the more intense the the smell and the louder the whirring sound, almost like the grindstone Farmer Brown occasionally used to sharpen his scythes.
The line of men lifted the birds and handed them along, until they finally reached the man at the front door to the truck, who handed the birds inside to unseen hands. The three friends, Brooks, Chamberlain and Will had not quite reached the line of men. Then Brooks noticed a large rubber hose running from the unseen side of the truck down to a barrel below.
Two of the daughters were struggling to lift the hose out of the top of one barrel and place it into a new, fresh barrel, but as they did, the hose gushed a crimson stream, which splashed on the ground between the barrels.
Brooks saw Chamberlain's eyes focus on the scarlet tide and then back to Brooks.
Just then, a shadow crossed over the faces of Brooks and his two friends. They realized the shadow was from a bird flying over them. They looked up and there, a hundred feet above them, sailed Thomas and three of his wild turkey friends.
The wild turkeys did not look down upon Brooks, but flew on, wings beating rhythmically, voices clear, plaintive, keening. They did not form a line as geese would do, but lumbered along in the air, heavily, working hard. They were slow, but they were up there, on their own power, moving steadily, untouched by the scene below them.
The hired man seized Brooks, smiling and handed him to the next man in line, and he was passed along until he reached the final man at the door to the silver truck, who handed him inside, where the whirring sound had grown louder.
Farmer Brown did not arrive with the morning feed and the turkeys clustered along the fencing which faced the farm house, where the lights were on. The feeding always took place at 9 AM, but not this day, and by 11 AM the birds were becoming irritable and several fights broke out. A hungry bird is a testy bird.
Just before noon a low rumbling began and grew louder and louder until its source appeared: A fifteen foot silver truck ground slowly down the road and pulled up in front of the pig barn. It had a huge red and gold star painted on its long walls: "Gold Star Market."
Seeing that, Brooks remarked, "That is the same logo that man had on the back of his jacket. The man Farmer Brown was talking to the other day."
None of the other turkeys could make that connection.
Members of Farmer Brown's family, his three teen aged daughters, walked out of the farmhouse, wearing blue jeans and brown rubber aprons which reached below their knees and they walked to the far side of the van and disappeared behind it.
The hired men, wearing similar aprons, drove up in a pickup truck and jumped down and several entered the silver truck from the door on the near side, and one stood in the door and three formed a line in front of the truck from the door to the road.
Finally, Farmer Brown walked out of his front door, down the road to the turkey field and he spoke in a booming voice.
"You are all winners today!" he shouted. "So white and big breasted. This farm has had its best year in history. Believe me. And we want to mark the greatest flock of turkeys ever with a special celebration. Come one and all, the lines are wrapping around the block!"
The troika turkeys, Sean, Rush and Rupert led the procession, walking across the road and down toward the covered bridge to the silver truck and up the stairs where each turkey was hoisted through the door by the hired men.
Toward the end of the long line Brooks, Chamberlain and Will straggled along behind. As they passed the goat pen, the goats seemed most intent on not looking at them, not even Delphi, who was normally the most responsive goat, met their eyes.
Only the old goat looked up and followed the line of turkeys with his eyes, and he met the eyes of each of turkeys who had visited the goats with a strange and steady look.
The pigs were gathered in their sty. They had their own field on the north side, but this day, they remained corralled. They looked at the turkeys pass by and grunted amongst themselves in a low, not unfriendly, but not a happy murmur.
The chickens were nowhere to be seen, which was unusual, as they were always underfoot.
From behind the truck Rush, Rupert and Sean emerged and headed back up the road toward the turkey field.
"Oh, you'll love it," Rush cackled.
"Best party ever" said Sean.
"Winners," Rupert said. "Every one."
But from within the truck a grinding, whirring sound was audible.
And a stench gradually filled the road.
The closer Brooks and his two friends got to the truck, the more intense the the smell and the louder the whirring sound, almost like the grindstone Farmer Brown occasionally used to sharpen his scythes.
The line of men lifted the birds and handed them along, until they finally reached the man at the front door to the truck, who handed the birds inside to unseen hands. The three friends, Brooks, Chamberlain and Will had not quite reached the line of men. Then Brooks noticed a large rubber hose running from the unseen side of the truck down to a barrel below.
Two of the daughters were struggling to lift the hose out of the top of one barrel and place it into a new, fresh barrel, but as they did, the hose gushed a crimson stream, which splashed on the ground between the barrels.
Brooks saw Chamberlain's eyes focus on the scarlet tide and then back to Brooks.
Just then, a shadow crossed over the faces of Brooks and his two friends. They realized the shadow was from a bird flying over them. They looked up and there, a hundred feet above them, sailed Thomas and three of his wild turkey friends.
The wild turkeys did not look down upon Brooks, but flew on, wings beating rhythmically, voices clear, plaintive, keening. They did not form a line as geese would do, but lumbered along in the air, heavily, working hard. They were slow, but they were up there, on their own power, moving steadily, untouched by the scene below them.
The hired man seized Brooks, smiling and handed him to the next man in line, and he was passed along until he reached the final man at the door to the silver truck, who handed him inside, where the whirring sound had grown louder.
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