The Big Yard: Birdwatching in a Time of Quarantine
Or: The Evolution of a Lister
Day 19 of the Quarantine (April 1, 2020)
I’ve finished the quarantine shed. My 5x8-foot sheltering place of redwood walls and metal roof just needs a cot, but it has running water and electricity for as long as those hold out. I’ve rerouted the waterlines from the well and the rain tank to the shed and connected them. With two valves, three filters, and a distribution pump, I have the option of sending stored rainwater into the house if the well fails with the coming La Nina drought.
The shed should persist long past the coronavirus and be available for times of future crises, marital and otherwise.
Seventeen Gould’s turkeys, the first to come to the yard this year, woke me at 6 a.m. with their pitched tuc, tuc, tuc, tucs. They were impatient and noisy for the lack of sunflower seeds and blamed me. It’s times like these I regret my efforts to populate the canyon with wild turkeys. When we moved here twelve years ago, two lonely hens occasionally ventured into the yard. So, I contacted the Arizona Game and Fish Department about finding them mates. We got dozens. Toms and more hens. Wildlife manager Brittany Oleson told me she released them in a canyon nearby, but she expected the “big, goofy birds” would make their way to us. “Turkey releases are never majestic,” she added, “involving disheveled birds tripping and rolling out of cardboard boxes in a sea of poopy feathers, but they're at least fun.” She also said that if my hens didn’t find any toms in this group, she could see to it that “one or two rolled off the truck into my yard.”
It wasn’t long before my turkey hens showed up with poults in tow.
I scatter the seeds then show them the butterball turkey I’ve removed from defrosting in the fridge—it will be going into the ground this morning for our quarantine pit barbecue. Recipe: Dig hole. Fill with chopped oak. Set ablaze and burn to coals. Toss in foil-wrapped, seasoned bird and cover with dirt for 5-6 hours. It’s a practice run in case we lose power.
In the afternoon, as I’m shoveling coals from the pit and uncovering our steaming, rosemary- and sage-infused dinner, the turkeys return for more handouts. They watch me, each cocking one beady eye in my direction, and wait. They’re unimpressed by the roasted perfection, which I set on a tray before them.
They don’t seem to understand the importance of our supermarket remaining open to the public.
This is classic! lol
Loving these. Can't wait until the next one!