Thursday, April 30, was a cool, cloudy and rainy day. Though the birds were singing, it was a bit nippy outside. I had been out briefly to fill the feeders, but cameras, recorders and other equipment would not appreciate the steady mist that was falling, so I kept myself inside for the most part.
Up in my office, I had been working on a variety of little insignificant chores while my mind worked on a possible topic for this column. Having no particular luck, I decided to go down to the kitchen and top off my morning coffee. I would not have expected this simple, mundane action to reveal today’s topic.
A casual glance out the back windows of my living room showed a rich, verdant scene that simply overflowed with the promise of spring. Apple trees were blooming, dandelion flowers dotted the fresh green grass, and everywhere there were additional hints of greenery that comfortingly suggested that the local plants were happy, healthy and starting their lives again after a long winter’s sleep. But then I saw something that made me stop in my tracks. Down the hill, next to one of my bluebird boxes, there was a big brown blob that I couldn’t account for. I paused, thought about what I was looking at for a moment, and then I understood. It was a female wild turkey!
This has been a particularly interesting spring with regard to the turkeys in my neighborhood. There has been a healthy number of birds in and around my yard for years, but this spring has revealed a larger-than-normal number of sightings. In particular, there has been a pair of adult males that have been hanging around and posturing for dominance with one another. Sadly, most of these sightings have occurred when taking photos was not possible, but just seeing these big, beautiful birds has been a real treat.
I’ve also heard a great deal of “gobbling” in the area. There is a field to the west of my house where the turkeys appear to congregate for their breeding displays. To the west there is a broad path through the woods and I’ve heard a lot of turkey activity from that direction as well. All of this is pretty routine, but the actual appearance of the birds in my yard is the really interesting thing. I have no idea why this is happening, but it is glorious!
The appearance of the hen — that’s the name used when referring to female turkeys — is something even more exciting. I took a chance and stepped out onto my deck to see if I could take photos of her, and though I was successful I also managed to disturb her. She had just been standing there in the rain, quietly preening her feathers, but as soon as I stepped out of the house, she saw me and went on full alert. I snapped today’s photo as she was heading west, toward that field, and then I gave up. She was gone … or so I thought.
Back up in my office, with some fresh coffee, I looked out my window and lo and behold, there was the hen. Again, she was just standing there and preening. Five, 10, then 20 minutes passed and there she remained. I am going to have to keep an eye on this situation, because it is highly possible that she has started a nest nearby. A female turkey with a family of chicks following her around would be utterly charming and amazing.
The wild turkey (Meleagris gallopavo) goes through two major periods of socialization every year. In the spring, males, called “Toms,” will engage in breeding displays that are designed to attract females for mating. There is a visual component to this — the males fluff themselves up, fan out their tails and strut their stuff — while the females assess their health, fitness and raw magnetism before making their selections. Once mated, however, the hens are on their own and will receive no help from the males.
Nests are located on the ground and are basically a small, saucer-shaped depression scraped into the ground with the females’ claws. The entire structure is about the size of a large pizza and is often located at the base of a tree in the forest. The bottom of the nest will be lined with dead leaves that are lying on the forest floor and then the hen will start laying her eggs. She generally lays only one egg per day, so a full clutch of turkey eggs — 10-14 of them — can take up to two weeks to deposit. Only after the last egg is laid will the hen start her incubation, which takes another month, because it is very important that all of the babies hatch at the same time. I find it extraordinary that the nests can remain undetected for up to six weeks.
Once the chicks, also called “poults,” hatch, they follow their mothers to find food and they will remain close to her throughout the summer. Eventually, the chicks grow enough to lose their downy feathers and grow a proper plumage. At this point, they look like miniature versions of their mothers. Then, as they enter into the fall, they have grown enough to distinguish males, called “Jakes,” from females, called “Jennies.” It is in late autumn that the other season of socialization occurs. Once again, there is a lot of gobbling and displaying by the Toms, but this is all done to establish pecking orders and dominance in winter flocks. And then, it starts all over again.
Get outside early in the morning — when it’s not raining — and see if you can hear Tom turkeys gobbling in the distance. These days, you might also see a flock of turkeys engaged in courtship behavior in a grassy area next to the road. When I was a kid, there were no turkeys around, so this is a wonderful thing to be able to see and hear again.
Bill Danielson has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 28 years. He has worked for the National Park Service, the US Forest Service, the Nature Conservancy and the Massachusetts State Parks and he currently teaches high school biology and physics. For more information visit www.speakingofnature.com, Speaking of Nature on Facebook, or the Speaking of Nature Podcast.