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The Boy Up the Hill and the Wild Turkeysby George ZidbeckNearly two decades ago, the early spring gathering of wild turkeys in my neighborhood turned commonplace and seldom commanded more than a momentary glance unless they exhibited signs of alarm. Such a happenstance occurred early one morning while I raked the SW portion of my parcel. I first heard the rustling of a flock of a dozen turkeys running down-slope, above my rear fence line, in a heavily wooded section. I looked up behind the fowl to see what created their hurried descent. I soon noticed a boy of about eight holding onto a stick. I realized the birds had not taken flight across the swale in that they had no problem loping ahead of the lad. Nonetheless the young man showed no slack until he saw me leaning against my rake looking at him. He stopped, hesitated a moment, and then asked, "Are those your turkeys?" "No," I answered, keeping my voice low and neutral. In that he didn't rush in with a second query, I suspected he mulled over his options. I had not seen the youngster previously; so assumed he had parents visiting in the area and had taken off in exploration. After a thirty second wait, he finally asked, "Can I hunt them?" "Is it turkey hunting season?" I asked, knowing otherwise. "I don't know," he answered. His tone accented his uncertainty. I knew the inflection well. At his age, I also had stepped into circumstances controlled by adults and felt vulnerable, and wished freedom from grown up restraints. He had started his pursuit of the turkey with vigor and great expectation of counting coup with his stick. But, an adult appeared, and the safari abruptly halted. "Do you have a hunting license?" Even if I suspected he had no such document, I made my inquiry with the intent of easing him out of his quandary. Once more he answered in the negative. "Well then," I told him, "go see your father and see if he'll help you get a license and find out when it's hunting season. Then you can come back and hunt those turkeys." "Okay," he said, but not with enthusiasm or acceptance. He dropped his stick and trudged back up the hill from whence he had trod. I never saw the novice hunter again, and regretted that he had seen me. He posed no threat to the turkeys. My presence alone had stopped him from his joyful chase, but I could not in good conscience misinform him once he had asked me for authority. In our youthful journey to maturity we encounter countless prohibitions that inhibit our spirited adventures. In time, most of us acquire the proper documents for this or that event for this or that season. Así es la vida . . .
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