Turkeys can be found in the most unexpected places, like near populated areas in Saco. Rachel Lovejoy photo
Not that long ago, I called the woods of Lyman home. Back then, seeing wild turkeys out in my yard or walking down the dirt road was a common occurrence. But never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that they (or some of their kin) would follow me to Saco when I moved here six years ago.
OK, you might think, Saco has plenty of rural areas, too, where the turkeys (aka Maleagris gallopavo) are common sights. What’s so great about that? Well, here’s what’s so great: I don’t live in a rural area. I live a mere one mile from the Saco Valley Shopping Center, just a 20-minute walk from here. Yet, the sight of whole flocks of turkeys moseying around this place is a daily thing, and one which I and everyone else who lives on this street has come to take for granted. Not only do the turkeys provide us with visual entertainment as they go about their business every day, but it’s also a real kick to see the reactions of visitors who see them for the first time.
During the six years I’ve been privy to their antics, I’ve spent quite a bit time just watching them, and I’ve acquired a lot of turkey lore in the process. I’ve seen turkeys mating and new mothers quickly whisking their chicks back into the woods when they feel threatened. I’ve seen them chasing each other around while they’re feeding on the birdseed I toss out for them every day, ever protective of the tiny bit of ground they’re scratching at to get to the last morsel of seed before others do. I’ve watched them as they head back into the woods at the end of a long day and spread their great wings to fly up into the trees where they spend the night, and I’ve seen them perch on the roofs of low buildings during the heat of a tussle.
A few summers ago, I watched as several of our resident “big birds” took what is known as a dust bath. A nearby area of topsoil had been turned over, revealing the gravel and sand beneath it. As the ground dried, it created the perfect medium for the turkeys to flop around in, fluffing their feathers to rid them of the insects and other debris tucked beneath them. Not only am I privileged to watch most of their activities, I also know what it’s like to be gobbled awake early in the morning almost year-round as the turkeys come out of the woods right past my bedroom window.
More often than not, the current flock can be seen wandering around this property, pecking at the grass and going from place to place in search of something to eat. Like all wild creatures, the turkeys spend the bulk of their time foraging. A poorly-fed or undernourished turkey becomes weak, making it an easier target for predators.
Maine has two turkey hunting seasons: late spring and then again from late September to early November. But because this area is within city limits, it is off-limits to hunting of any kind. So “our” turkeys are safe here, and somehow, I think they know this, which is why they never seem to wander very far. They have the best of all worlds here: thick woods to live in, lots of friendly neighbors of both the four and two-legged kind, and plenty to eat above and beyond what they’d normally find in the wild.
Urban development notwithstanding, the turkeys are only one of the many species that have learned to coexist here and elsewhere in hitherto unexpected places. If nothing else, their presence reminds us that it is indeed possible to share our earthly space with all creatures, even those whose gobbling wakens you each day at 6 a.m.
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