By Hilary Woodward
It was a big decision for Eric and me to buy the 5-acre lot north of Southampton Village in 1983. We had been living together in the village epicenter for a few years, around the corner from my family home on North Main Street. Now, we were married and ready to start our family. The cottage in the village was way too small for that.
This new home was a whole two miles out of town, and we fell in love with the rugged, wooded back acres and the wild, natural front yard full of oak trees and a large stand of beech. They were the welcome “mat” at the start of the large circular drive off Edge of Woods Road.
I was familiar with the neighborhood. My best friend from school lived there. Her family had horses, which were not allowed in the village proper. Every birthday, my parents gifted me riding lessons with Cassie’s mother, Mrs. Schwenk. We road through the woods on trails spreading long and wide from our now new back door.
Admittedly, I was a bit scared of the woods, thanks to older brothers and sisters and their stories meant to scare me when I was little. It seemed like anything could pop out of there and rip us to shreds. However, the benign woodland neighbors consisted of deer, mainly, the occasional fox, rabbits, birds galore, and a squadron of squirrels.
We moved in a week before Emma, our first baby, arrived. The house was still unfinished, with loud hammers, saws and carpenters who sang on a daily basis. When the project was complete and we had peace, Emma became agitated. It seemed the noise had been her sleeping tool. Silence was disarming to our baby girl, but she adjusted fairly soon after, thank the Lord.
Some years passed. Eric had been adamant that we not groom the natural landscape. He didn’t want a perfect magazine cover. The property was thriving with nature. Mrs. Schwenk still rode on occasion. The wild things were mainly birds, squirrel and deer.
Suddenly, one year, there was a new presence: wild turkeys. We learned that friends who are avid hunters had replaced the long-lost wild turkey population for a way of restoring history and a chance to hunt something besides deer.
The wild turkey population has grown in population. They are quite curious characters.
The turkey flock started walking through our property every morning just about the time I was up and making tea. Out the west side door, I would watch them inch up the meadow. I enjoyed observing them meander, their long necks jerking forward and back as skinny legs marched haltingly, with hope of a morsel of grain or insect to find in the grass. They took in everything, no hurries.
Once up the hill, they paused near our side door, and then made their way down the other side to the vernal pond below the house.
I began to throw out just a wee bit of seed, not wanting them to lose their natural instinct for finding food. They loved it and came every day.
We don’t get a crowd anymore. Perhaps the hunters have been too successful. Yet, this year, one turkey returns, with the occasional friend along. I see it standing at the door, watching intently as it waits for me to appear. Politely, it moves away when I crack open the door.
These birds carry a fairly large body on long, skinny legs. Their heads, attached to lengthy necks, consist of a wattle, snood, cornicle and beard. Now, that’s something to note. It makes us humans sound boring.
I throw a tiny handful out.
The other day, I came up the hill from behind our house. There, the turkey stood. I realized that he was standing still as I approached. I asked him how he was but got no answer. It gave me great pause to realize he was not skittish around me.
I will hold back on the grain for a while.
Even though we might be friends, the best thing I can do for him/her is to cheer for the innate wildness within and to hope that it has not yet or never will be lost.
Hilary Woodward is a resident of North Sea.
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