Whether man is disposed to yield to nature or to oppose her,
he cannot do without a correct understanding of her language.
|Red waiting patiently to enter the pasture.|
My front porch has always been a place where stories will grow. Sitting here right now I look over the freshly mowed lawn where those clever dandelions snicker and dance.
They celebrate because they survived the mower who tried to eliminate them yesterday. My eyes drift across the quiet gravel road and then to a red-winged black bird that shares a song while he sits on a wooden fence post. A fence that marks the edge of the hay field begins to disappear as those grasses grow taller. My feet are resting comfortably on a child size Adirondack chair waiting for any child who may drop into the farm this summer. I sit, I dream, I write.
The morning had been a busy one. I had walked the fence line over the uneven ground, pushed my way through the overgrown bush and then playfully splashed in the meadows full of water up to my ankles all while I checked fence that guards that rich pasture from our cows. To check it before it was too hot out and those nasty bugs woke up. Sweat had run down my face as I thought of that water bottle left behind in the tractor with My Hero.
He had been using the chainsaw to cut a tree that had fallen on a section of fence, and I had volunteered to go ahead to check deeper in the bush, then over to the barbed wire that protects our cows from harm. I knew they were going to be so happy when we finally could open the gate to let them over.
The bush has always been where I have felt the most comfortable in life. A place where nature can and will always show off what she has to offer. The smell of cedar fills me with an indescribable sense of peace. The purples, yellows, and greens below my feet mixed with a blue sky filled with white clouds overhead stimulate my need to seek out more. The profound silence was unexpectedly penetrated by the sound of turkeys off in the distance. My heart raced with excitement at the thought of coming face to face with the owners of that sound. I crept ever so quietly in the direction it had come from.
Turkeys; they are very clever and I believe will not be seen close up and photographed, unless they honestly want to be. I do believe they like to show off once in a while, much like Mother Nature, they call the shots. Now, this would be my own opinion, others may disagree, but this has been my experience. I call the turkeys around this farm Taunting Turkeys for a reason and that would be because I can hear but not always see. Just out of reach, has been the thing between us for years. That fact has not kept me from trying to get a better shot, every year.
I never take a big camera when we fix fence in the bush. That would be very silly and most likely (at least for me) end in disaster. So, with the little camera that fits in my pocket, I went hunting for those Taunting Turkeys. The sound continued and my heart raced faster as I crept, and ducked over and then under the bushes trying to be quiet. I turned just past a grove of those sweet smelling cedar trees. There in the clearing they stood, I smiled. My camera makes a noise when I turn it on. The flock of seven stopped walking, looked towards that camera noise and then ran as fast as they could. Oh yes, the name Taunting Turkeys still fits but lucky for me there was a turkey who seemed to be a little confused, or possibly deaf and did not run.
The morning was filled with hard work but nature had filled a need, with a surprise once again. I smile on my porch knowing she always will.