Somebody moved away and gave Daddy a turkey and a few old laying hens that never laid, but eventually made some good Sunday dumplings. My parents never ask for handouts (we had self-pride), but a hand-me-down turkey wasn't the same as a public dole turkey. Daddy accepted the gift and thought he would make a good centerpiece for our Thanksgiving table. Anyway, as to the turkey, he became known as "that sapsucker."
***Credit to Humpy for that phrase. He called undesirables "sapsucker."***
It was in late summer/early fall that Daddy came home from work one evening with "that sapsucker" flopping around in a corn sack and the layabout hens with their legs tied together with some string, all flopping and squawking about. Daddy had those fowl riding in the bed of the county dump truck that he drove home at night for safe keeping and to be used by us to climb on when we saw fit. We often saw fit.
We gathered to see what the noise was as Daddy lugged the clutch of hens and half-dragged the sack of turkey out to the chicken yard. The chicken yard was just a suggestion for our flock. The gate hung half open, the bottom of the fencing had underpasses for the chickens to use for convenience (and fox, possum and various fowl killing/eating critters to get in, always around midnight to cause “havoc in the henhouse”).
***Credit Grandma Minnie Smith for that phrase. "Havoc in the henhouse" covered many discombobulations for Grandma.***
Our chickens were free range just like we were. The henhouse was used at night by the chickens to roost. When the spirit moved me, I held church in the henhouse while my younger siblings sat on the roost as I preached. Mites, doodoo and stink never stopped a good sermon for me. My little sisters sat and sang on demand, "Just Over In The Glory Land." Those were fun times, I'm telling you.
***True story for another time.***
So, we watched as Daddy untied the corn sack and let the turkey flap out to ruffle his feathers, let down his waddle and head straight for us; spurs all pointy and ready to do battle. We scattered like a covey of flushed quail. The turkey had Humpy in his sight as Humpy headed towards the back of the chicken yard. The fencing was sagging but had no exit holes at the backside. That turkey pecked, spurred and gobbled as the dust raised. Humpy kicked and clawed the fence trying for a way out, up and over. He finally got over by using a post for leverage. Humpy had a lifelong habit of sticking out his tongue from the side of his mouth when he was in full-on concentration. He flopped onto the ground and screamed at Daddy: "That sapsucker!"
Daddy was bent over laughing as he announced "We will fatten that rascal up and eat Thanksgiving sapsucker."
The "sapsucker" ran his agenda on us for weeks. Daddy made sure he had all the fresh shelled corn he could eat. We made sure we could see him if we went into the yard. He watched our habits to figure out when any of us happened to be sitting on the back steps enjoying a syrup-filled biscuit. The "sapsucker" took it. In fact, he took whatever he wanted. He bullied the chickens, the dog, the cats, and even went so far as to challenge the bull one time, way down in the pasture.
That hand-me-down turkey took umbrage on our attitudes towards him by ruffing out his feathers and strutting in circles as if he was in love. We threw corncobs his way, he gobbled and came for us. Our running up the back steps to slam the porch screen door on his nose waddle didn't break his spirit. He hid underneath the house to watch for skinny legs to peck and spur. We wished pain and suffering on that turkey, but always kept the idea of Thanksgiving dinner in the back of our minds.
He turned into a beautiful turkey, all shiny feathers, long beard and that bluish-to-red waddle hanging over his beak. He strutted and gobbled and bullied his way to Thanksgiving Eve. Daddy did the execution. Mama did the stuffing and cooking.
That was the tastiest "sapsucker" we ever ate.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING Y'ALL!
You can check out Earline’s blog and buy a copy of her first book “Life With the Top Down” at: http://www.earlinesdoins.com
