My Favorite Post-Thanksgiving Run
As I age, a lot of memories start to run together, but not my most memorable runs. One took place on this day about 13 years ago when I lived in Cape Cod.
I lived on a military base and often ran outside our housing development along narrow roads surrounded by woods on both sides, which upped my chances of wildlife encounters. Usually it meant coyotes and squirrels.
Just several miles north was Plymouth, site of the first Thanksgiving (at least officially). And most American families still celebrate the holiday with a cooked turkey as the centerpiece of the meal. In fact, Benjamin Franklin tried to make it our national bird. He lost to the bald eagle, but the turkey remains the symbol of the holiday.
About an hour into my run I came around a corner and hit a clearing and there, sunning themselves and caring not one bit about being seen were about a dozen wild turkeys. I slowed as I approached, but they didn’t seem to care. In fact, they seemed to be oblivious to me and to the occasional motorist, as if to say to each other, “It’s OK, we can come out again. We’re safe for another year.”
