Turkeys
A popular myth holds that turkeys are so stupid that they’ll look up during rainstorms, mouths agape in fascination, and inadvertently drown themselves.
Although there’s never been any evidence to back up this up, it does reflect how most people feel about this bird. Turkeys are one of the most denigrated animals out there. Plucked, stuffed, mocked for their gobbles, their body parts assigned Seussian names like caruncles (fleshy bulbs on their heads and necks) and snoods (long growths of tissue at the bases of their beaks), there are few indignities turkeys have managed to escape.
Adding insult to injury, we have a tendency to slaughter them en masse, at this time of year in particular: of the 270 million killed in the US each year, about 46 million will end up adorning our Thanksgiving tables.
And yet, despite this onslaught of malignments, turkeys are, in the words of John James Audubon, “one of the most interesting of the birds indigenous to the United States.”
The word “turkey” is a misnomer that likely came about during the Columbian Exchange, when they were brought to Britain via Turkish merchants. Audubon had it right: turkeys are in fact not only native to North America, but occupy a large part of our cultural heritage. Indigenous peoples began domesticating wild turkeys around 800 BCE, at first harvesting their feathers and eventually, around 1100 CE, their meat. A millennium later, both wild turkeys and their domesticated cousins can still be found in significant numbers across the continent.
Much of their population success can be credited to their adaptability. They’re omnivorous, for one, eating everything from seeds to plants to insects to even small snakes and lizards. This dietary flexibility is one of the reasons you’ll seldom see an undernourished turkey in the wild; when they are spotted, it’s usually due to illness or injury. Their plumpness makes them well-suited to survive even extreme winter weather, though they’re equally likely to flourish during warm periods, eliminating the need for migration.
While turkeys don’t migrate, per se, their home ranges can vary greatly in size. Flocks may keep to 500 acres or less if the habitat is good, but where resources are scarce, that intimate home range may skyrocket to 8,000 acres or more.
What makes a habitat good? Large trees that provide above-ground roosting sites are a must. Turkeys are quite cowardly, and are known to run up to 25 miles per hour to get back to the safety of their roost before dark if nightfall takes them by surprise.
(You may have heard the oft-cited anecdote that Benjamin Franklin fought for the turkey to be our national bird. This isn’t entirely true, though he did once write that the turkey is, “though a little vain and silly, a bird of courage.” He was correct on only two of those counts, and gets another demerit for once accidentally zapping himself in the process of trying to electrocute one.)
It might be turkeys’ extreme fear of predators that makes them such highly social birds. Flocks tend to oscillate with the changing seasons. In winter, hens and toms keep to their own separate flocks. As the weather warms, toms break away to their mating grounds to pursue female attention through a seductive display of gobbles, struts, and puffed feathers. The ladies are understandably attracted in droves (Who wouldn’t be?), which explains why turkeys are polygamous, toms usually mating with multiple partners each spring.
Reminiscent of toms, the otherwise very social hens will leave their flocks during mating season to find a safe place to lay their eggs in solitude. New moms will stay with their young and guard them vigilantly both before and after hatching. Luckily, these vulnerable poults are fast-growing: By two weeks old, they can fly enough to roost with their moms in the safety of trees. By three weeks, they can fly from predators. By fourteen weeks, males and females can easily be distinguished, and intra-sex fighting is common as hierarchies are established. By fall, male juveniles will leave their family groups to join new wintering flocks.
Once on the brink of extinction in certain parts of the country, wild turkeys have managed to not only make a remarkable comeback, but cement themselves as an American icon—despite all the grief we give them. After you finish your Thanksgiving meal this year, go out for a quick family hike: you might just be lucky enough to see one.
Although there’s never been any evidence to back up this up, it does reflect how most people feel about this bird. Turkeys are one of the most denigrated animals out there. Plucked, stuffed, mocked for their gobbles, their body parts assigned Seussian names like caruncles (fleshy bulbs on their heads and necks) and snoods (long growths of tissue at the bases of their beaks), there are few indignities turkeys have managed to escape.
Adding insult to injury, we have a tendency to slaughter them en masse, at this time of year in particular: of the 270 million killed in the US each year, about 46 million will end up adorning our Thanksgiving tables.
And yet, despite this onslaught of malignments, turkeys are, in the words of John James Audubon, “one of the most interesting of the birds indigenous to the United States.”
The word “turkey” is a misnomer that likely came about during the Columbian Exchange, when they were brought to Britain via Turkish merchants. Audubon had it right: turkeys are in fact not only native to North America, but occupy a large part of our cultural heritage. Indigenous peoples began domesticating wild turkeys around 800 BCE, at first harvesting their feathers and eventually, around 1100 CE, their meat. A millennium later, both wild turkeys and their domesticated cousins can still be found in significant numbers across the continent.
Much of their population success can be credited to their adaptability. They’re omnivorous, for one, eating everything from seeds to plants to insects to even small snakes and lizards. This dietary flexibility is one of the reasons you’ll seldom see an undernourished turkey in the wild; when they are spotted, it’s usually due to illness or injury. Their plumpness makes them well-suited to survive even extreme winter weather, though they’re equally likely to flourish during warm periods, eliminating the need for migration.
While turkeys don’t migrate, per se, their home ranges can vary greatly in size. Flocks may keep to 500 acres or less if the habitat is good, but where resources are scarce, that intimate home range may skyrocket to 8,000 acres or more.
What makes a habitat good? Large trees that provide above-ground roosting sites are a must. Turkeys are quite cowardly, and are known to run up to 25 miles per hour to get back to the safety of their roost before dark if nightfall takes them by surprise.
(You may have heard the oft-cited anecdote that Benjamin Franklin fought for the turkey to be our national bird. This isn’t entirely true, though he did once write that the turkey is, “though a little vain and silly, a bird of courage.” He was correct on only two of those counts, and gets another demerit for once accidentally zapping himself in the process of trying to electrocute one.)
It might be turkeys’ extreme fear of predators that makes them such highly social birds. Flocks tend to oscillate with the changing seasons. In winter, hens and toms keep to their own separate flocks. As the weather warms, toms break away to their mating grounds to pursue female attention through a seductive display of gobbles, struts, and puffed feathers. The ladies are understandably attracted in droves (Who wouldn’t be?), which explains why turkeys are polygamous, toms usually mating with multiple partners each spring.
Reminiscent of toms, the otherwise very social hens will leave their flocks during mating season to find a safe place to lay their eggs in solitude. New moms will stay with their young and guard them vigilantly both before and after hatching. Luckily, these vulnerable poults are fast-growing: By two weeks old, they can fly enough to roost with their moms in the safety of trees. By three weeks, they can fly from predators. By fourteen weeks, males and females can easily be distinguished, and intra-sex fighting is common as hierarchies are established. By fall, male juveniles will leave their family groups to join new wintering flocks.
Once on the brink of extinction in certain parts of the country, wild turkeys have managed to not only make a remarkable comeback, but cement themselves as an American icon—despite all the grief we give them. After you finish your Thanksgiving meal this year, go out for a quick family hike: you might just be lucky enough to see one.
First published in the Pioneer Tribune on December 4, 2024