The poultry business is a major Industry in northwest Arkansas. Tyson plants for feed and poultry processing are scattered throughout the landscape. Sometimes you don’t just see them, you smell them, and that can open some interesting conversations with people unfamiliar with the intense aroma. Another part of that industry is the transporting of feed and poultry. When following a load of chickens down the road, you could think it is snowing or that there is some sort of road show pillow fight going on in front of you. These feathery passengers occasionally escape their plight. Some mechanical malfunction, like a door comes open or a truck has a mishap, and the birds run for it.
One time when Lytle was on the road, just such an event happened. The road was littered with turkey feathers and broken cages. Lytle got out of the vehicle to help clean up the mess when he spotted a survivor. Bruised and dazed by the tumble from the truck, the turkey had stayed around the scene. We were all raised not to let anything go to waste and an escaped turkey was fair game. The turkey was taken to Grandma’s house and put in with the chickens.
Chickens were always around Grandma’s house. They were allowed to roam around the place everywhere except the house and the garden. Today, they would be called “free range” chickens. They would pick, scratch, eat and fertilize the yard and everyplace else within a couple hundred yards of their chicken yard and chicken house. They would be locked in the chicken house at night to keep them safe from predators. I learned many things from watching those chickens and memories of them have caused me to consider other more serious aspects of life. Like how is it that chickens instinctively know to go to the chicken house for protection yet we “smart” people often do not allow our family or our God to protect and shelter us? Guess we need to be a little more like chickens.
I recall, as a small boy, eating crackers or bread on the high front porch and allowing the crumbs and small pieces to fall in the yard below. First one chicken, then a few, and soon all the chickens in the yard would be gathered beneath me eagerly snapping up even the smallest morsel of food. That picture comes to my mind when I read in Mathew and Mark about the dogs eating crumbs that fall from the master or child’s table. Then, I think there are still people today starving to hear the gospel. Yes, I learned a lot from chickens. So, the next time you see a child doing something that seems totally ridiculous, like sharing his bread and crackers with chickens, just wait. It could be a teachable moment…for the child and maybe even you.
The turkey, on the other hand, gave me more immediate and hard lessons. He thought that he was the ruler of the yard and had no tolerance for trespassers. Just about every grandchild around that time has been chased, kicked, or flogged by that turkey. After he sent one crying to the house, he would pace back and forth in the yard gobbling occasionally as if challenging the child to come back out. Honestly, I do not know if the turkey started this war or if Jimmy, Donnie, and Tony started it. I can’t remember if all the BB guns, bean flips, corn cobs and other hurled projectiles sent in the turkey’s direction were retaliation or intimidation. All I know is that for a few seasons we did not leave the house or enter the yard without making note of where the turkey was located and what he was doing.
The big bad turkey eventually met his Waterloo because not only did he dislike children; he disliked Gerald. The turkey thought he could challenge Gerald and he did… for a while. The old Tom seemed to know better than to take Gerald head on. He would wait in hiding and ambush Gerald on the way back from milking at the barn or working in the garden. When Gerald walked by with his hands full of tools, vegetables or buckets of milk, the ole turkey would attack from behind kicking and flogging Gerald. Lytle though it was funny. But, Gerald did not share in the humor. Of course, Gerald was and still is quiet and patient. When Gerald finally gets pushed too far, however, his reaction is swift and accurate.
The attacks went on for several weeks or months. From a child’s perspective, it seemed that it went on for years. One day, the turkey spotted Gerald going to the house with his hands full. The turkey charged Gerald to give him his usual flogging. Unfortunately for the turkey, Gerald’s hands were full alright. They were full of a baseball bat. Gerald hit a home run and the turkey went home to Turkey Heaven, if there is such a place.
Gerald delivered the turkey to Grandma. She and Gerald dressed out the turkey and it became the main course in the next big event dinner.
I do not remember hearing how good or how tough the meat was from the bird. But, I know the grandkids all felt a lot better about going out in the yard to play. Thank you, Gerald! That’s just one more time you were our hero.
And that's the way I heard it on the mountain,
Tony Peoples
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