AgriCulture bloggers Peter Davies and Mark Scherzer are the owners of Turkana Farms in Germantown, NY. This week Mark writes: We are at that point in the season when we must begin to adjust our relationship to the turkeys from keepers of the flock to harvesters of the crop. Obviously, the turkeys are unconscious of their fate. Each morning they happily resume their daily jamboree, milling about, always interested in whether someone else is doing something more entertaining, or coming up with better things to eat. Their behavior seems to me like a cross between the seemingly mindless play of kindergarteners on the playground at recess and the highly self-conscious flirting one sees at a high school mixer. They strut. They preen. They mingle and mix. They vocalize in unison. If Peter shouts from the house that breakfast is ready, they send up a chorus of gobbles in reply. If I try to answer him, they drown out all but my first word. A formation of geese flying overhead elicits a chorus, while a solitary hawk will cause them to gather together, heads craning up, murmuring almost voicelessly. Often we can’t see the stimulus they are reacting to, but, based on their response to it, we know something is out there. When one turkey disses another, they fight. So involved are they in their spats that they forget all the careful training we’ve given them. Last weekend, two toms were so engaged in chasing one another, one’s beak hanging on the other’s neck, that they were running in and out of the sleeping porch. Meanwhile, I was trying to get the rest of the dutifully lined up flock inside for the night. No sooner would I get a bunch of birds inside, than the two toms would come running out, and half of those who had just gone in, would turn around and trail along after them. In their adolescent robustness, these birds are beautiful. Maturity causes their heads, especially those of the bourbon reds, to turn a luminescent blue. When excited, the dull pink of their wattles turns bright crimson. The snoods hanging over their beaks also redden. The young toms, like fan dancers, display their tail feathers nearly incessantly.
While cognizant of this beauty and personality, I find myself, as the season progresses, becoming evermore the farmer, seeing the turkeys now in an entirely different way. I count them, morning and night, to make sure none is missing. I observe their size—they seem quite big this year, so we should have a decent number in the ever-popular 10 to 14 lb. range. I note their shape. These heritage breed birds do not have the butterball roundness of the top-heavy, standard white broad-breasted turkeys, but their breasts are plenty robust. And I know that, in these birds, beauty is certainly more than skin deep. Because they’ve lived more than twice as long as the standard turkey, they have developed a layer of fat under their skin that imparts a richer, more nuanced flavor and gives them a moistness that makes constant basting superfluous. I admire their vigor. This has been a particularly rambunctious, wandering flock. They often ranged far beyond our comfort zone, so much so that, while we were away on vacation, our helpers Alana and Darlene, tired of rounding them up and fearful that they would be killed on the road, learned to trim their wings. But I know that the exercise worked their muscles, giving them the more even distribution of dark and light meat that many of our customers appreciate. Finally, I take pleasure in their clear-eyed good health. Until quite recently, these breeds were endangered. They have been brought back from the brink of extinction by a host of small producers such as ourselves, who have learned to raise them appropriately and have created a market demand for them. It gives me a sense of accomplishment knowing that we’ve learned to create an environment where these turkeys thrive and enjoy life. It is gratifying to see the steady stream of orders come in and and to know that, when these lovingly-nurtured birds land, hot from the oven, on people’s tables on Thanksgiving day, they’re going to be delicious.—Mark ScherzerFor the complete archive of past AgriCulture blogs, click here.
