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December 2004: BIRDS
Did you have turkey for Thanksgiving? We did, in the grand old tradition of the holiday. Actually, there is no proof that the Pilgrims enjoyed the big bird at the first Thanksgiving, though they may have because turkeys were plentiful. That was not the first time turkeys were eaten for a holiday, however.
About 100 years before the time of the Pilgrims, the British had hired a man named Sebastian Cabot to explore the New World, which he did in several voyages. At this time, the nobility, at Christmas, were in the habit of dining on swans or peacocks. Never mind the fact that they were tough and didn’t taste good. The poor people couldn’t afford them and that was reason enough. It happened that Sebastian Cabot had a cabin boy on his ship named William Strickland. The lad was fascinated by the huge flocks of wild turkeys they found in the new country. He brought back large numbers of the birds on each of Cabot’s voyages. The enterprising young man found he could make good money selling turkeys to the Aristocracy, who were thrilled that they had access to a bird even more expensive than formerly. Strickland, however, started raising the plump birds in England, and, though still expensive, became within the reach of many of the common people, at least once a year. There are many stories from the Victorian era of the immense flocks of turkeys driven into the heart of London at Christmas, creating a terrible noise supplemented by carols and church bells. Remember, how in Charles Dickens’ Christmas Carol, the reformed Scrooge sent the largest turkey in London to the Cratchitt?
In my family, the Thanksgiving and Christmas feasts usually involved other birds. I can only remember one time when my mother prepared a turkey. I don’t remember if it was Thanksgiving or Christmas. In any case, I had put in a special request for the drumstick because I had seen pictures of kids gobbling down turkey legs. It was tough and stringy and I was left with the feeling that turkey was way over rated. We were more likely to have duck. My mother raised ducks, hatching duck eggs she got some place under an old hen. They were mallards. My dad called them tame wild ducks. I liked them. It was fun watching them march around in single file and once in a while they would be startled by something and they’d take off and fly, to my delight.
One year my mother tried her hand at raising geese. She obtained some goose eggs and put them under a setting hen. Only one hatched. I was 6 or 7 years old and it became my job to see that the goose was closed up in his coop to foil any foxes that might be around. I had every intention of making that goose my pet, but the bird had a bad attitude. I’ve since learned that that is characteristic of geese, but at the time, having a goose for a pet seemed like a good idea. That goose was incorrigible. He was prone to sneak up on me and bite me in the butt with a beak like a pair of pliers. Also when he went in his coop and I closed the door he hissed at me like a snake, which was scary. Ultimately we ate him at one or the other of the holidays. I wasn’t thrilled by the way he tasted. Far to greasy for me to enjoy. In fact, the next winter I wore him on my chest under a flannel cloth when I had a cold. I don’t know whether that was getting even with him or not.
So, I have related my experiences with the various fowl in my young life. My acquaintance with turkey was meager and not very satisfying. I despised the chickens as stupid, filthy beasts. The ducks minded there own business, but the goose was an active adversary.
I’ll close with a Hampton goose story. I’ve related it in these pages before but I doubt anybody remembers it. Morris Heagy grew up in the house Dean Sparrow lives in now. In his “Recollections of my Old Home Town” (on sale at Black’s Store and the Crier Office, $ 3.00) he describes the Hampton of the post Civil War era. He says that in those days every house was surrounded by a white picket fence. Old pictures confirm this. The fences were not intended to be picturesque, but rather to serve the useful purpose of keeping the livestock away from the front door. The reason was almost every house had an out-building that housed a horse or two, perhaps a cow, and some poultry. In the summer these critters were allowed to roam the streets and graze, going down to the river when they wanted a drink. Mrs. Stoddard, whose husband ran a store where K & D Woodworking is today, and who lived in Ty Cutcomp’s house at the north end of 2nd Ave, kept a large flock of geese. The chief goose was an immense gander they called “Jumbo” and was the largest goose anybody had ever seen. Jumbo ran a tight ship and would not tolerate any nonsense. One of the chief summer pastimes of the little boys of Hampton was either laying traps for Jumbo or running for their lives from him. After my experience with a goose with an attitude, I can relate to them.
Whether you have goose, turkey, duck, chicken, or a ham sandwich for dinner, I wish you a Very Merry Christmas.