Indian summer is like a woman. Ripe, hotly passionate, but fickle, she comes and goes as she pleases so that one is never sure whether she will come at all, nor for how long she will stay. In northern New England, Indian summer puts up a scarlet-tipped hand to hold winter back for a little while. She brings with her the time of the last warm spell, an unchartered season which lives until Winter moves in with its backbone of ice and accoutrements of leafless trees and hard frozen ground. Those grown old, who have had the youth bled from them by the jagged edged winds of winter, know sorrowfully that Indian summer is a sham to be met with hard-eyed cynicism. But the young wait anxiously, scanning the chill autumn skies for a sign of her coming. And sometimes the old, against all the warnings of better judgment, wait with the young and hopeful, their tired, winter eyes turned heavenward to seek the first traces of a false softening.
--Grace Metalious, Peyton Place
October opened with heat which in the 20th century would have been called, "Indian Summer," but the animals and people of New Hampshire had, for some years, come to expect summer would shift into winter without pausing for autumn.
The wild turkeys pecked and hunted the sere, the yellowed fields abutting the fenced in yard for the white turkeys. The wild turkeys looked parched and their muscles had gone stringy and their voices cracked.
Standing along the fence between them, Brooks, who had grown ever fatter, his plumage whiter and his breast muscles bulging, called out to Thomas who raised his head to listen.
"You know, Thomas," Brooks said. "If you wild turkeys flew in here at dusk, there is always feed left in the bins. We cannot eat it all. Nobody would say anything and Farmer Brown goes off to the north fields in the afternoon."
Thomas smiled as much as a turkey beak will allow for a smile and said, "That is very kind of you. But I don't think we will take you up on that generous offer."
"It must be hard to recall the death of your friend," Brooks said. "But I do think it would be safe and we could post look outs for Farmer Brown. You would have plenty of time to escape, should he approach."
"We're struggling; it's true," said Thomas, "But we are getting by. Once the heat passes, we'll do better."
"It just seems a waste, all that feed uneaten at the end of the day," Brooks persisted.
"This is New Hampshire," Thomas said, "Live Free or Die. In our case, in yours as well, ever true."
"You are still the Cassandra," Brooks said. "Sounding the alarm for the approaching apocalypse."
"And you still cleave to Farmer Brown."
Later, that same day, Farmer Brown arrived with a man who wore a silver jacket which had printed in big red and gold letters on its back, "Gold Star Market." The two entered the fenced in turkey grove and walked slowly among the birds. One of Farmer Brown's daughters trailed behind, in dungaree overalls and pigtails.
"I raise the best and most beautiful and whitest turkeys in the entire country!" Farmer Brown told this man. Farmer Brown waved his arms about and as he did some of the turkeys approached, in hopes he had feed in his pockets. "Look how they love me!" Farmer Brown told the man. "They are the happiest, fattest, biggest, strongest, healthiest, most beautiful birds who ever existed! Right here."
The birds preened and strutted and fluttered their stubby, flightless wings and they all felt like winners.
"Any one of these birds would win first prize at the County Fair, if I would enter them. But I keep them right here. I wouldn't risk taking any off the farm, exposing them to those other birds from other places."
The man with the silver jacket shook Farmer Brown's hand. They ambled back out, trailed by Farmer Brown's daughter.
"I just feel so good every time he sets foot in the compound," said Chamberlain.
"He is so charismatic," Will said. "I'd follow him anywhere."
"He has kept us safe," Brooks agreed. "We eat well, all we can eat and more. His fence has kept the fisher cats and foxes and coyotes away. We have never had it so good."
Thomas was just beyond the fence, with two other wild turkeys.
"But you are not free," Thomas reminded Brooks.
"If this is not freedom, whatever it is feels pretty good. You may say that we ain't free, but it don't bother me," replied Brooks.
"That sounds like a line from a Robert Altman movie."
"Sometimes," Brooks said, "If we hop up on the hay bales, we can see across the road and through the window and see the big screen TV in Farmer Brown's living room. We saw 'Nashville' the other night."
"Ah," said Thomas.
"Farmer Brown really cares about us. Did you notice the new gate he put up at the entrance?"
"Yes. But I could not read the words."
"They are German," Brooks said. "The old goat told the other goats. Arbeit Mach Frei."
"Meaning?" asked Thomas.
"Something about freedom, I think. We are free range turkeys. Farmer Brown has set us free. We live so much better here than on other farms. We have no coops here."
"What is freedom, really?" asked Thomas.
"Just another word for nothing left to lose," laughed Brooks.
"I've heard that one."
"We can walk where were want to."
"As long as you stay on the right side of that fence."
"We can eat as much as we like."
"I can fly wherever I like," said Thomas.
"Why should I want to go anywhere else? I'm fine here. What more do I need to know?"
"Ah!" Thomas expostulated, "That's just it, isn't it? What more do you need to know? What is the use of exploration? Why ask what is on the other side of the fence, the stream, the salt marshes?"
Brooks looked across the fence at Thomas and Thomas looked back at him. They were not more than five feet apart, but they lived in different worlds entirely.
--Grace Metalious, Peyton Place
October opened with heat which in the 20th century would have been called, "Indian Summer," but the animals and people of New Hampshire had, for some years, come to expect summer would shift into winter without pausing for autumn.
The wild turkeys pecked and hunted the sere, the yellowed fields abutting the fenced in yard for the white turkeys. The wild turkeys looked parched and their muscles had gone stringy and their voices cracked.
Standing along the fence between them, Brooks, who had grown ever fatter, his plumage whiter and his breast muscles bulging, called out to Thomas who raised his head to listen.
"You know, Thomas," Brooks said. "If you wild turkeys flew in here at dusk, there is always feed left in the bins. We cannot eat it all. Nobody would say anything and Farmer Brown goes off to the north fields in the afternoon."
Thomas smiled as much as a turkey beak will allow for a smile and said, "That is very kind of you. But I don't think we will take you up on that generous offer."
"It must be hard to recall the death of your friend," Brooks said. "But I do think it would be safe and we could post look outs for Farmer Brown. You would have plenty of time to escape, should he approach."
"We're struggling; it's true," said Thomas, "But we are getting by. Once the heat passes, we'll do better."
"It just seems a waste, all that feed uneaten at the end of the day," Brooks persisted.
"This is New Hampshire," Thomas said, "Live Free or Die. In our case, in yours as well, ever true."
"You are still the Cassandra," Brooks said. "Sounding the alarm for the approaching apocalypse."
"And you still cleave to Farmer Brown."
Later, that same day, Farmer Brown arrived with a man who wore a silver jacket which had printed in big red and gold letters on its back, "Gold Star Market." The two entered the fenced in turkey grove and walked slowly among the birds. One of Farmer Brown's daughters trailed behind, in dungaree overalls and pigtails.
"I raise the best and most beautiful and whitest turkeys in the entire country!" Farmer Brown told this man. Farmer Brown waved his arms about and as he did some of the turkeys approached, in hopes he had feed in his pockets. "Look how they love me!" Farmer Brown told the man. "They are the happiest, fattest, biggest, strongest, healthiest, most beautiful birds who ever existed! Right here."
The birds preened and strutted and fluttered their stubby, flightless wings and they all felt like winners.
"Any one of these birds would win first prize at the County Fair, if I would enter them. But I keep them right here. I wouldn't risk taking any off the farm, exposing them to those other birds from other places."
The man with the silver jacket shook Farmer Brown's hand. They ambled back out, trailed by Farmer Brown's daughter.
"I just feel so good every time he sets foot in the compound," said Chamberlain.
"He is so charismatic," Will said. "I'd follow him anywhere."
"He has kept us safe," Brooks agreed. "We eat well, all we can eat and more. His fence has kept the fisher cats and foxes and coyotes away. We have never had it so good."
Thomas was just beyond the fence, with two other wild turkeys.
"But you are not free," Thomas reminded Brooks.
"If this is not freedom, whatever it is feels pretty good. You may say that we ain't free, but it don't bother me," replied Brooks.
"That sounds like a line from a Robert Altman movie."
"Sometimes," Brooks said, "If we hop up on the hay bales, we can see across the road and through the window and see the big screen TV in Farmer Brown's living room. We saw 'Nashville' the other night."
"Ah," said Thomas.
"Farmer Brown really cares about us. Did you notice the new gate he put up at the entrance?"
"Yes. But I could not read the words."
"They are German," Brooks said. "The old goat told the other goats. Arbeit Mach Frei."
"Meaning?" asked Thomas.
"Something about freedom, I think. We are free range turkeys. Farmer Brown has set us free. We live so much better here than on other farms. We have no coops here."
"What is freedom, really?" asked Thomas.
"Just another word for nothing left to lose," laughed Brooks.
"I've heard that one."
"We can walk where were want to."
"As long as you stay on the right side of that fence."
"We can eat as much as we like."
"I can fly wherever I like," said Thomas.
"Why should I want to go anywhere else? I'm fine here. What more do I need to know?"
"Ah!" Thomas expostulated, "That's just it, isn't it? What more do you need to know? What is the use of exploration? Why ask what is on the other side of the fence, the stream, the salt marshes?"
Brooks looked across the fence at Thomas and Thomas looked back at him. They were not more than five feet apart, but they lived in different worlds entirely.
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