Over at Blue Oak Meadow above the Feather River at Oroville, CA, a family of wild turkeys haunt the hills. Sometimes you can see them warily crossing the withered summer fields to reach the brush patches almost as if timid about being seen--as secretive as the sensitive deer that also occupy the woody land.

There is always a certain delight in seeing those creatures of the wild interacting with their environment and exercising remarkable senses tuned to lean agile bodies. Their presence indicates the essence of wildness and freedom, and a self-sufficiency of survival. A nature watcher never tires of seeing wildlife over and over again.

I am gravely concerned about the loss of habitat and wildlife when those terrible wildfires rage over the wilderness, displacing or killing turkeys and towhee, and even though there are advocates of reducing brush and forest to lessen the impact of fire, those places are still the home of animals poised on a tedious existence and deserve consideration. Where will the scrub jay go if there is no scrub?

Blue Oak Meadow has fared well for a number of years, ungrazed and weedy with many oak seedlings peeking through the protective cover. The slow transitions of the seasons and invasive species has made the area a sort of natural laboratory, but I wonder for how long. "For sale" signs are indicated for the 80 acres, and it, as is every Californian dry land habitat, is poised on the brink of fire death every summer.

One of the recent transitions at Blue Oak Meadow has been the expansion of the wild turkeys. The adjoining neighborhood of neatly manicured, well-watered residential yards has become an alluring temptation for the flock of turkeys, and although they slink along in their cautious instinctive way, constantly on the alert in the brown meadows as they search for seeds, the call of man's oasis' has overcome their reclusive habits.

Neighbor Frank, who lives next to the meadow, has been coddling his collection of yard plantings through the dry season, attentive to daily watering a nice new stand of tender-leafed gazanias, and he was bemoaning the invasion of the turkeys.

"Those cotton-pickin', long-legged bastards plucked every blossom off my plants," he bemoaned. "I'd fry me a bird but those rangey stragglers wouldn't have a pound of meat on them."

Another neighbor was out with his B.B. gun, wanting to discourage the turkey on his roof! "They scratch on the shingles and I don't want that," he said. "They also nip my flowers and dig holes in the lawn." Even as I had left the meadow, a dozen turkeys had scattered to the trees of the homeowners, perhaps aware of the hunter I saw stalking the meadow thickets with his shotgun ready to go. Where can a turkey go?!

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Imagine! A moist green bed of tasty plants with snails and things just across the road from the drab fields, seemingly grown for animals! Like Californian Amerindians, several wild species are giving up the old ways for the luxury of civilization. The turkeys would probably think the outdoor habitats belong to them even though original homelands for their predecessors was Eastern U.S.A.

"You can watch turkeys right out of your window, Frank, and I hardly ever enjoy even a distant view out in the meadow," I lamented.

Frank wasn't too happy about the deer either. "They snip off my shrubs, and even shake potted plants out of their pots!" Nature next door has become something to contend with for Frank and his friends!

Later, I watched nine turkey in a yard next to the meadow. Mrs. Fletcher had explained how she enjoyed the turkey in her spacious oasis and had even put out seeds for them which they ignored. "They like to poke in the yard and snatch things off the shrubs. "Those holes don't hurt the lawn do they?" she asked. "They even fly onto my rooftop, and I'm not too fond of the slimy black droppings they leave in the driveway."

The nine lanky exploring birds indeed poked around the yard that morning, and even opened those closely guarded wings and with a burst of power, lifted to the garage top. Wild turkeys are no fluffy bunch of feathers like we see on the cover of sporting magazines, at least when the male is not strutting, but rather trim tight torpedo-like oval bodies supported by stilty looking legs. You are reminded of ostrich, except the head is skinny looking skin with touches of blue. They can trot along smoothly on those strong sinewy shafts.

Soon they glided off the garage and leaped and flew over the fence separating the meadow. It is there that they can blend with the surroundings and feel at home.

The introduction of turkeys into the American West, and even the reintroduction into my home state of Missouri, has been nothing short of remarkable. Often you can see large flocks cruising through the oak forests of Table Mountain, and the skillet sized birds have become a popular sporting target for hunters. A California Turkey Federation attracts many sportsmen, and their popular events include benefit dinners, turkey calling demonstrations, and stocking turkey in remote areas.

Those turkey hunters dress in big-bucks-camouflage clothing and carry expensive equipment. I have a camouflage colored cap, and once when I was crossing a fence after bird watching, a passing motorist called out, "You damn turkey hunter!" In my nature pack I also have a turkey call given to me--a cute little box that makes squeaking sounds--and attracts more kids than turkeys. But I have never shot a turkey, although my Dad bagged a few in Missouri after they had been restocked. Turkey, like deer, tend to make a hunter's pulse quicken and the tactic schemes multiply!

Turkeys tend to roost in trees at night. Meadow walker Tobey said they were still roosting in a dead snag by the road as he walked by. Once a couple young turkey hunters camped under a tree after chasing shadows all day, and next morning a splotch of defecation on the camper's bag indicated a flock of turkeys hovered overhead! Too late--the thundering herd blasted off downhill! Unfortunately, of the 9000 species of birds on earth, turkeys have been among about 300 notable game birds in the world, including doves and quail. All birds are edible, but some fly faster, and are more greatly pursued as a gunshot challenge.

The turkey was once nominated for our national bird instead of the eagle, and Benjamin Franklin wanted to make the skunk our national animal because it is armed for defense and not offense. The turkey can only run, and eat acorns, and hide in the hills--and excite bird watchers as well as homeowners! May the turkey survive its pursuers and prosecutors! - September 20, 2000