Bookfield, Turkey Farm - Part 2

Further down the road I came to a large poultry farm. The houses for birds were low, long, and white with silver roofs. They were kind of like long green houses. Clucking did not come from these structures, a weird noise did. I realized that it must be turkeys, not chickens. I had visited a chicken farm already in Athens. I pulled in to the driveway for a white, well kept farm house and knocked on the door. The man who answered was huge; tall and wide, just like a heavy weight weightlifter or pro football line man. He had to have been around 6 feet 8 inches tall and 400 hundred pounds. He had a look of innocence on his face, especially around his eyes. I decided he was safe and gave my approach.

“Hah there Mr. Jones, mah name is Su-san Fair-vieew. A’ve been calling on all of the church folks in the neighborhood. Y’all do go to some local church, don’t cha?

His jaw dropped and he let me in. He was like putty in my hands. He watched my demo and order process and bought an FBL. Easiest sale I ever made. Then he asked if I would like to see the turkeys and I replied, yes.

We walked out into the sunshine towards one of the bird houses. We went in. The house was brightly lit, plus there were windows in the sides. The floor was dusted with hay. The birds were all white, the same age with their heads about up to my kneecaps. I was surrounded by a gentle gobbling noise; a very strange sensation. As we walked through them, they scurried away from our feet, not unlike a school of fish parting for a diver.

He told me some facts about the farm and turkeys, such as feeding, breeding, etcetera. It was all new to me. He said that the birds were so stupid that they could drown in the rain, if not gotten under cover. I thanked him for a very educational and fun time, and he mentioned that his parents’ house was just down the street apiece and that for sure they would buy some books.

So, I rode away. His parents’ house was about a mile away and I stopped. They were really very nice, asked me in and bought books. They served me a soda and looked at each other sheepishly. I couldn’t think of any reason for that look. Finally, the woman spoke.

“Here you are honey, just a little bit of a thing, working hard out here in all this heat, sweating up a storm and all you have for transportation is that bicycle. We are impressed with your will to work hard to earn money. We would like to make you a proposition” she started.

“Really, what?”

“Our son was also impressed and wishes you to marry him and move to the farm.”

I tried not to spit up my soda. My god, he would squish me flatter than a pancake, was my first thought, not to be spoken however. Somehow I politely thanked them but declined their offer. Ah well, at least I made some sales.