On the first day of Spring, Governor Gavin Newsom ordered 40M Californians to shelter in place. And, you know what, we’ve done just that for 70 odd days now. The days running one into another. Nobody’s cars moving. Amazon and FedEX trucks screeching down the street.
We emailed our neighbors. We called, even though we hated the telephone. We sat on our porches…waiting. Walked our dogs. Took the trash out and brought the cans in. Placed our Drizly and Instacart orders and waited for them to come. Unpacked them.
Forced ourselves to finish an entire book. Discussed the book on Zoom. Occasionally showed up for a virtual training session from the garage. Made pasta. Baked the official food of the pandemic…banana bread. Washed our sweatpants so that we could wear them again.
What day is it? Wait, I know this! Today’s the day the turkeys came!
Just as my husband and I sat down on our front porch to enjoy the cocktail hour, we spied them across the street. A mother and two babies crossed the road and stopped for a visit in our next door neighbor’s yard. I called into the house for my daughter to come out as three other families joined us on the street to OOH and AH. Granted, we are easily entertained at this point in time, but it was an event.
For inquiring minds: wild turkeys can be found in about 18% of my home state in deserts, forests and cities. Two major rivers – the Sacramento and American – run through the landscape of my home town. So it’s not unusual to see varied wildlife on our trails and in our parks, but this is the first time they’ve come to roost in our neighborhood. Incidentally, baby turkeys are called “poults.”