My cousin Muriel lives on a farm a few miles outside Kalispell, Montana. Soon after our arrival we were sitting around her living room talking when Muriel casually said, “Here come the wild turkeys.”
Sure enough, a band of wild turkeys strutted across Bill and Muriel’s back yard as if they owned the place. Turns out they make the same journey every afternoon just before sunset.
Every time I jumped up to take a photo, they’d scatter and I could only capture one of them.
Whenever we visit Kalispell we bring Bill a bottle of Texas whiskey. Maybe in the future we should just go with a bottle of Wild Turkey.