If Death Were a Turkey Farm

In case you’re wondering if there’s some sort of announcement here (like in the previous blog), there is not. Melanie and I are in fine health, thanks mostly to her. Still going strong Read on.

As I’ve mentioned before, growing up I spent a lot of time at our mountain cabin outside Mariposa, in the heart of the Sierra Nevadas. Outside, we had a couch that overlooked the front part of the property, down toward the 49er Highway. Past the road were more low hills sloping upward toward taller peaks in the distance.

I used to sit on the couch with a pair of binoculars, scanning the vast terrain, searching for something interesting. There were a few cabins across the way as well as a turkey farm. Through the glasses, I recall a long rectangular building, reddish in color. From a few miles away, I couldn’t make out particular details, mostly white fluffs and a few vehicles.

A few times, I asked my dad if we could go visit the turkey farm. You can probably guess his response. It began with, “Hell no,” and continued on from there. For reasons I can’t explain, the rectangular building held great fascination for me. It may explain my lifelong obsession with turkey sandwiches, but I digress.

Another fixation I have, have always had, relates to death. My family can tell you I’ve always been interested in the topic. I read the obits at least once a week, just to see if I know anyone. Sadly, more and more often I find a name I know.

I also love stories about the last meal of death row inmates. Maybe it’s just me, but Here’s a great link on that if you’re interested. Did you know my home state of Texas no longer offers the special order option? As of 2011, those inmates eat whatever is served in the cafeteria that day. Tough way to go. Most other states provide last meal options, within reason. A lot of other countries do it too.

I’m curious about last words. They’re often tragic and cryptic, sometimes funny or common, not typically full of wisdom. Churchill simply said, “I’m bored with it all.” Betty White called out, “Allen,” in search of her husband. At death’s door, Joe Dimaggio speculated, “I’ll finally get to see Marilyn.” Steve Jobs of Apple fame, repeated, “Oh wow. Oh wow. Oh wow.” Weirdly, both John Belushi and Chris Farley on the verge of overdosing, pleaded, “Please don’t leave me alone.”

Many years ago, I even had a death party. Melanie was skeptical at first, but it worked beautifully. I won’t get into all the finer details, but suffice to say that all the guests at some point “died” and were eulogized by those who remained. No worries, we all came back to life and finished the party. (Melane and I also had a produce-themed party called A Salute to Fruit, but that’s a topic for another post.)

For most of my life, my musings about death have been pretty superficial. Dying was merely a concept, a reality to be sure, but one far in the background. I had the luxury to read about it, chat with others, teach literature where someone dies (which is pretty much every novel and movie, and many poems.) Passing from this world was neat and clean, viewed from a safe distance. It was like looking at a turkey farm through binoculars from a few miles away.

Now, at age 64, it’s different. At our cabin, I could see white turkey blobs from miles away but never the faces of those ugly, delicious birds or their caretakers. If death were a turkey farm, I’m no longer sitting comfortably on a couch viewing it through my binoculars. That turkey farm I used to survey from afar, now I’m in the parking lot. Now, I’m looking through the admitting gate. I can sometimes smell the farm. And I know too many who have passed through those gates.

Of course, none of this influences my love of turkey. It’s still my go-to sandwich (with spinach and tomato, mustard and mayo, topped with Swiss). There was a great turkey movie in 2013–Free Birds. Maybe not great like Vertigo or Citizen Kane, but a cut above most kid’s movies. Thanksgiving remains my favorite holiday, and the meal plays a large role in that. Lest we forget, turkeys take center stage in the funniest comedy moment in TV history; this statement is beyond debate. “As God is my witness, I thought turkeys could fly.” If you haven’t seen it in awhile, refresh your memory with the famed WKRP turkey drop.

True, I may be in the parking lot of the turkey farm, but I’m gonna gobble up every moment until the time comes. (Sorry, I couldn’t resist).

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