In that brief moment I see a sudden and unmistakable flash of recognition. Hutto describes their daily walks as they explore together their Florida Panhandle home turf. Hutto builds a pen out of small-mesh wire, but it doesn't protect them from a rat snake that slithers through one afternoon to kill one, or from a weasel that takes three in a nocturnal raid. Red-shouldered hawks are a constant menace, and the young turkeys show an intense interest in anything in the sky, even taking note of planes a mile overhead. You get the feeling that if he could fly he wouldn't do anything showy, just continue to cruise along with the flock and make the occasional note.
Turkeys move at a pace that maximizes awareness while minimizing effort.
A wild turkey always proceeds as if he were in the perfect place at the perfect time. He is at pains to defend turkeys against those who would slander their intelligence or character. He also rejects the traditional libel that turkeys drown because they're too lunk-headed to lower their heads and come out of the rain. Here was the empty nest at its most literal, leaving Hutto the parent simultaneously proud and desolate. He probably felt something similar when he finished this fine book.