Turkeys, strutting around like proud peacocks
THE WILD TURKEY (Meleagris gallopavo) has invaded Brookline, and some of the town’s most pacific citizens would like to garrote it. They have reason: the birds are noisy, often aggressive, and their pecks can hurt. But we are restrained by law from harming wildlife. And so, sometimes alone, sometimes in pairs, but usually in clubby groups, M. gallopavo roams the streets without interference. It gets into backyards, too. Just the other morning my 4-year-old grandson noticed a feathered fellow under the apple tree. “Let’s play!’’ called Joseph from the safety of the back stoop. The turkey seemed willing, but Joseph’s mother hauled him inside.
Some people think of luring the birds across the border; but Newton might object. Others wonder whether behavioral therapy could discourage the turkeys’ rapping at car windows, apparently hoping for a lift. But Brookliners in general are showing their vaunted tolerance toward the newcomers. After all, the turkeys occupy the same phylum as we do, and their family has been around a lot longer than any of ours.
In this Darwin bicentennial year they can be honored as a seriously evolved bunch: they practice adaptation and cooperation. They seem to feel entitled to share our pleasures. Sooner or later a tom will show up on Halloween demanding his share of organic raisins. Another will strut into Town Meeting and participate in voice votes. Several already gather in a local park, maybe to practice part singing. And there are unscheduled parades down Beacon Street. The striking creatures, red spots called caruncles on their necks, flaps called wattles under their chins, stop traffic simply by displaying their feathers.
It’s probably this habit that endears them to citizens of a certain age. We can remember the decade after the war when Coolidge Corner considered itself a capital of fashion; when there wasn’t a tattoo or a nose ring in sight; when a gentleman would never be seen outdoors without a hat; and when women on slender legs swept through the streets, wearing a ruby caruncle or two, and maybe a chiffon wattle. They were marvels of elegance. Among turkeys females are drab and males flamboyant; but this gender-bending adds to their charm. They have restored an air of style to our community - a postwar squawking exuberance that is just what we crave in these pinched, muttering times.
Edith Pearlman’s fourth collection of stories will be published in 2010 by Lookout Books. 