There’s no people like show people
They smile when they are low
Even with a turkey that you know will fold
You may be stranded out in the cold
Still you wouldn’t trade it for a sack o’ gold
Let’s go on with the show!—Irving Berlin
At dawn, Neil and I are jolted awake by the sharp crack of a rifle. Looking down from the bedroom window, I see a small man hurrying through our farm field, carrying his catch upside down—a huge wild turkey, its wings flopped limply over its head. Half-asleep, my husband flings on a pair of jeans, and still barefoot, his hair sticking straight up like something out of Marat/Sade, he leaps into our old Chevy Blazer and roars down the road.
