I met my Thanksgiving dinner over the weekend. One of these scrawny little guys will be the centerpiece of my Thanksgiving table come November.
They don't look like much (yet), but hopefully by November will look more like this:
The breed is a "Midget White" and it's one of many endangered breeds that are being revived by small growers throughout the country.
Mine is being grown at "my" farm over in Roanoke - just a few miles from my house. I say "my" farm, because this year I bought a share in the farm and every Saturday I get to fill a bag with the week's harvest.
I'm looking forward to watching my turkey grow and learn interesting tidbits from Farmer Sandra about keeping poultry.
And slaughtering poultry.
Yes, let's just put that out there. Slaughter. Turkeys really don't just magically appear frozen, featherless and shrinkwrapped with the giblets (read: guts) in a little wax bag.
An engineering term meaning the angle at which dirt and pebbles stop rolling and come to rest.
The other title I'd considered for this blog is a country western song: I love this crazy tragic sometimes almost magic awful beautiful life.
Contrary ideas, those. No matter. Life is full of contradictions, juxtapositions, conflicts and compromises. Meeting these gracefully, to find one's own angle of repose is a way of acheiving balance, sanity, gratification.