An Unexpected Bonus

Two days before Thanksgiving, I heard distinctive turkey talk in my back yard. Tiptoeing, I crept with camera in hand to the deck so I could watch and photograph 20 Rio Grande poults, jakes, and adults. This flock wandered into town from a not-too-distant creek to inspect lawns and flowerbeds as their   keen eyesight located insects slowed by chilly morning temps. As I enjoyed this unexpected surprise, I realized that it’s only been in my lifetime that Kansans get to enjoy such a scene. From the early 1900s until Kansas Fish and Game reintroduced this once native species in the 60s, turkeys were extirpated from our landscape.

This conservation experiment took time to get off the ground. Early transplants got off to such a slow start that even in the late 70s, biologists were still trapping Texas and Oklahoma gobblers to rehome in Kansas. My husband helped release some these captured birds in western Kansas. I recall the thrill of spotting a flock foraging along a creek or river because seeing them was so unexpected.

In the beginning hunting seasons lasted only days and few drew licenses. Over decades, units and seasons expanded until almost all Kansans can now turkey hunt during spring and fall. In some units, hunters can buy more than one permit to harvest what some consider the best meat they can put on the table. Bird numbers are strong enough that modern nimrods can opt to stalk with bows, shotguns, or muzzleloaders.

While not every farmer appreciates this creature, many, like our former neighbor, are glad to see turkeys roaming wild again. That gentleman saved garden and table scraps to toss into the barnyard to attract them. The little girl who lived down the road used this flock as models for her 4-H photography projects and earned at least one first place ribbon for her pictures of nesting turkeys.

Supporting this game animal doesn’t benefit only our diets. Across America, wildlife departments have reintroduced these birds so that their populations have grown from 1.3 million to well over 7 million nationally. This has led to more than a $10 billion economic impact nationwide, with Kansas receiving an ample share of funds.

If you have a hankering to provide freshly harvested turkey for Christmas dinner, it’s not too late to buy a license and join the second half of the fall hunt. Camoup and pursue your bird in units 1, 2, 3, 5, and 6 from December 12 through January 31, 2017.

Maybe wild turkey feasts aren’t your thing. You can still enjoy a country drive to watch flocks forage along creeks and edges of fields. If you’re out at dusk, you might see these ungainly birds fly to roost in an old cottonwood tree. Seeing something built like a feathered basketball with a long neck and wings take to the air offers its own entertainment.

Thank goodness our state Fish and Game Department joined the national movement to restore turkeys to our state. Kansans can enjoy hunting, photographing, or simply watching them parade through the countryside or town.

Stalking a Hummer

If you watch the news, you’re aware that stalking has a negative meaning. You learn about creepy people who obsess over public figures and lurk in alleys or near back windows to sneak peeks. Possessed photographers trailing Princess Diana contributed to her fatal car accident. Hollywood loves the stalker theme and banks big bucks developing thrillers to keep us on the edge of our seats to discover whether the victim escapes in time.

While each of the previous examples sends a shiver up my spine just thinking about the topic, nature photographers have to borrow stalker skills so they can capture shots that make viewers say, “Wow!” Hiding in a bush, tree, or ghilley suit is sometimes the only way a shutterbug can snap an image of a beast, insect, or bird going about normal business. 

I recently got caught stalking hummingbirds in Meeker, Colorado. During our entire vacation, I wore my camera like a clunky necklace or carried it attached like Edward Scissorhand’s extra appendages. I wanted a picture of a hummer sipping nectar from a real flower, not a plastic bloom. Trying to capture a natural shot like that is much harder than you’d think.

Stopping in the city park so my husband could make phone calls while we had good reception began my adventure. As I waited for him to complete his contacts, I spied a nearby garden of spiky hollyhock stems, planted just west of the men’s restroom. Hummingbirds do love these tropical looking blooms, so I zeroed in on this locale.

Hidden in the front seat of the car, I noted a couple of torpedo shapes with needle beaks weaving in and out of the flowerbed. Not wanting to seem creepy and hang close to the door of the boy’s bathroom, I tried shooting pictures from the west and south sides of the garden. Unfortunately, the light was wrong, and all I collected on my SD card were washed out, blurry images of these summer charmers.

Gradually, I edged around the hollyhock bed ‘til I found just the right rays to capture clear pictures of zipping hummers. Waiting and watching for perfect shots took a toll on my back. To relieve the crick that was developing, I propped myself against the nearest available wall, not thinking about where I was or what someone might think.

For about 20 minutes, repeated camera clicks and whirs made it sound as if I were a National Geographic professional capturing one photo after another of delicate birds and blooms. This was a nice fantasy until a city employee interrupted my reverie and stared at me oddly.

It dawned on me that I was leaning against the boy’s restroom with camera in hand. Stammering with embarrassment, I explained I was shooting hummingbirds with my Nikon. Thank goodness, the man was a hunter and understood the concept of stalking game so he didn’t think I was a weirdo. I did see him walk away, shaking his head and smiling.

After I got home and uploaded my pictures on my computer, I discovered I took better shots than expected. Examining those hummingbird photos thrilled me. I realized I’d caught tiny feet resting on delicate petals, wings whirring in a dizzying blur, and long beaks sipping nectar. 

The results were worth that awkward moment when I saw the maintenance man wondering whether he needed to call in a stalker.

The Beholder’s Eye

Living in the same region and sharing roads, doctors, schools, and hair stylists doesn’t mean people see a common experience from the same perspective. Everything that’s happened to individuals prior to those events colors their interpretations. It’s true of two kids who grow up in the same house with the same parents but tell two different stories about their upbringing. People spin their own explanations. 

A recent reminder of how humans see the same occurrence differently resulted from a post in a group including urban and rural Kansans. A member published stunning photos of musk thistle flowers. The photographer meticulously shot multiple views of purple blossoms, displaying them in full bloom and as compact buds. She edited artfully to accent color variations and focus on petal filaments or the green casing containing all those seeds-in-development. She added a note explaining how beautiful she found them.

I wasn’t sure how to respond. I liked her art, but my brain focused on the difficulty of removing those weeds from a pasture. I dealt with my conflict using avoidance—I didn’t make a comment pro or con about her eye-catching photos. However, others more certain of their feelings clicked the like button to tell this artist she’d won their approval. Some, country folks I bet, respectfully shared that it’s hard to look at a musk thistle blossom appreciatively, no matter how attractively displayed,  if you’ve spent time digging those prairie pests.

Several participants seconded that opinion. All worded their responses kindly, but they made it clear they didn’t see those flowers with the same affection the photographer did. A noxious weed was a noxious weed no matter how attractive a camera and editing made it appear.

A second reminder followed the first within a few days. It also involved plants. A friend who grew up in a large farm family thought people used their green thumbs to grow wheat as a cash crop and big gardens to fill dinner plates throughout the year. Spending time grooming a luxuriant yard wasn’t on that family’s radar. As a result, she thought a lawn punctuated with flowers, wild or cultivated, was pretty. For her, these colorful bonuses brightened drab buffalo grass.

When she married, she discovered another way to look at this situation. Her husband dreamed of having a manicured lawn. He didn’t like weeds interrupting the green turf surrounding their home, explaining how mad it made him when a neighbor’s wildflowers invaded his yard. I’d like to have seen his face when she responded, “But it’s so pretty. Don’t you love the colors?”

If you’re around long enough, you learn no one sees life the way you do. What one person sees as lovely may disgust another. This is certainly clear at the table. One sibling loves broccoli and another gags thinking about it, proof that value lies in the eye of the beholder.

If that photographer had dug much musk thistle, she might have taken its picture, but she probably wouldn’t have focused on its beauty. On the other hand, if a rancher’s grandkid grew up in a city, thistles might be pretty flowers that make artists smile.