'Tis the Season

Here on the farm, November first is always havoc. That's because the day after Halloween is traditionally Turkey Tagging Day.

No matter how early I get up, there's always families gathering down at the gate; moms and dads bleary eyed while their kids fidget with excitement As the crowd grows and anticipation builds, I like to tease them a little. I walk slowly past the window in my bathrobe, first this way, then that, a cup of coffee here, a bowl of cereal there. Out of the corner of my eye I can make out their silhouettes in the moonlight, shaking in the cold and dark of the predawn, everyone waiting for that magic moment for the crow of the rooster that signals "It's time!"

As the hours tick by, I get dressed and go back downstairs. As I slowly open the door, the crowd's chatter turns to cheers. Frost bitten fists pump the air.

"Sorry folks," I say, "just getting my paper." Their faces drop. Man, I love this time of year.

Another hour goes by and the first rays of light hit the field. A wisp of steam rises from the frost covered ground. Larry the rooster perks up and gives the signal. Another cheer goes up from the crowd.

Getting on my coat, I saunter out to the gate, jingling my keys in one hand, with a fistfull of tags in the other. I stop occasionally and lightly kick the dirt, examine the bottom of my shoe a bit. The excitement builds. The buzz of the crowd grows louder and louder. So does the chattering of their teeth.  Finally, I reach the fence. The crowd is pressing so hard it's tough to unlock the gate. I manage to turn the key and the lock drops to the ground. The crowd bursts on through. Everyone is grabbing tags from my hand as they race on by. My arm is almost ripped off. "Easy people, easy!", I say, but I know they won't listen. Everyone is eager to get their perfect turkey. "Print your name clearly people!", I say, but they're off and running. I can only chuckle to myself and shake my head. It's the same every year.

The next twelve hours are a blur of feathers, mud and more feathers. Kids are running in every direction- some are chasing, some are getting chased. Parents are trying to keep up. Squeals of excitement are nearly drowned out by the frantic gobbling of the turkeys. I spend most of my time watching, collecting ticket stubs and money and getting after the kids. "Sorry son, not responsible for all that scratchin'. Read the fine print.", I say. Or, "Hey sonny, you can ride the turkey after you pay for him."

It's good clean family fun. Nothing warms my heart like seeing families brought together by chasing live animals across my seven acres. That's what holidays are all about: bring families together and making money.