Mark was still in the shower, I was ready for work (right down to the lip gloss and earrings—I always seem to forget them) and I figured I could sneak a few minutes to play my ukulele before we left for the office this morning. I needed the time, too; I’d promised to play a couple of “Hawaiian” tunes for a Vacation Bible School later in the morning at a nearby church (the week’s theme was “Outrigger Island”) and I could certainly use the minutes to practice—especially the singing part!
My trusty LoPrinzi didn’t need tuning (it almost never does) so I started right off with a sweet D7-G7-C vamp and launched into “Pearly Shells.” I usually have a tough time getting “started” with the singing part of songs, even if I play the first few melody notes, and this morning was no different. But by the third line I was singing and strumming happily—when I looked out one of the windows in the bedroom and saw a tall and lithe observer just outside, a female turkey.
Mrs. Turkey (I know she’s been wed because I’ve seen her before with her doting guy and, later, a brood of baby turkeys) is a frequent sight, along with her sisters, in our neck of the woods. We live on the edge of a canyon and the combination of pine forest and the open tilled areas of the orchard attract a variety of wildlife. Wild turkeys are part of the scene so we’re familiar with their habits. If you’re not, let me offer you a quick turkey overview: Turkeys are always eating. Always. Their necks seem permanently bowed down as they graze along the pathways, forest floor and fields, looking for delectable ground-living goodies. If they’re not looking for edibles, they’re scraping them up from under the thatch and pine needles with their big, scaly, strong feet (sorry, Mrs. Turkey, but the truth may be a bit harsh). A turkey’s eyesight is keen and the ones around here shy away from any close human contact.
But back to my appreciative audience…Mrs. Turkey was not looking down. She was not scratching for food. She was not turkey-trotting away. She stood tall and straight, looking directly at me through the open window as I strummed my Hawaiian song. I played and sang through “Pearly Shells” three times and my audience of one absorbed it all—the C chord, the F chord and the transition between them, the C7. Even my parents (who think my ukulele playing is better than Jake’s) are never as attentive as Mrs. Turkey was this morning. If I can keep a turkey from its never-ending quest of finding food, it must be darn good ukulele playing. Or something.
After eight minutes of “Pearly Shells” I felt it was time to move on to my next practice piece, “The Hukilau Song,” and Mrs. Turkey demonstrated her disapproval. She shook her feathered shoulders as if coming out of a daydream and turned away, legs lifting stiffly as she stalked toward the stream and away from my stage. Sigh…I hope the kids at Vacation Bible School like that song better than she does.