Tottering Toward Turkey Preservation

For whatever odd reason, this Thanksgiving, I got thinking about raising turkeys. Do NOT ask me how that thought sprouted in my dizzy brain, but it did.

Now, why raise an ordinary turkeys when there must be a ton of 'cool' looking turkeys out there? I started doing the research. Since seeds of antique breeds of plants are called "heirloom", I figured so must go livestock. No. Of course not. Heritage is the word. So, I looked at heritage turkeys. I found a group called the American Livestock Breeds Conservancy. Oooo. Big name. But also a big group. If you want a heritage animal of any type of livestock, look there. It's very interesting!

They have 4 categories for each breed - Critical, Threatened, Recovered and Study (not sure what Study is, but I'll keep looking).

After looking at all the breeds, I decided on one called Jersey Buff. The original Buff went extinct, but since it was used to develop at least one other breed, that breed was used to develop a new Buff with similar traits of the old Buff. Calm (good!), medium size, white pin feathers (makes for a pretty carcass), good egg layers and good for the small farm.
I laugh! Farm! Ha! I'm not a farm. But, whatever.

So, any one who has known me since childhood knows this would come as something of a surprise - that I might want to raise anything with wings. Why, might you ask? Well, it's a story.

Back in 5th grade, we had a science project of hatching chicks. I was one of the lucky few who got to take 2 home. Since my dad had raised chickens before, I naturally just offered up our land for at least 2.

Fortunately, according to my mom, we only got 2. A Leggern, and what I thought was an Auracana, but now I'm thinking a Partridge Plymouth Rock just by this picture. This is him all the way. The older he got, the meaner he was. Talk about not biting the hand that feeds you - this bird didn't care. He'd spur you and peck you just as soon as have you feed him. It was awful!
To set the picture for the rest of the story, it was a calm summer Sunday morning. Next door, church had just gotten underway, doors and windows open to let the breeze waft through. I trot out in my summer nightgown to feed the chickens. The rooster - whose name was Chipmunk - his markings when he was a chick were that of a chipmunk - had somehow slipped out of their run.

I round the corner to the chicken coop and am met with wings, beak and spurs. I turn tail and RUN for my life. I probably took one breath and it was all scream all the way back to the house. The 50 yard dash, full scream, on that quiet Sunday AM, with a rooster cackling behind me, catching up. Who knew they could run that fast? Hell, who knew *I* could run that fast?!

Mom, hearing the longest scream in recorded history, came to the door, just in time to open it as I was NOT stopping for something as stupid as opening the door. I streak into the house, Mom closes the door as soon as I pass through and barely kept that damn rooster out. I didn't go out again that day. LOL

Obviously, I have been traumatized by winged things. And of course, this is a story that shall haunt me the rest of my days. However, I have been considering the idea of turkey raising. NOT breeding. That means having at least one tom. I can live with hens. But, if I want eggs, I know having a tom around is kind of necessary.

By the time I'm able to get room for a few turkeys - I'm thinking six-10 and asked a guy how many I could maintain - he says 150. Ha! Yeah. Right. I'm sticking with my number. Anyway, it'll be at least a full year, if not longer, before I'm able to house any turkeys. Mom is hoping and praying that by then, I'll be onto another obsession.
I'll keep you posted. Now, if I had help rebuilding the garden house so it could also hold a couple of turkeys, it could do it earlier....