To the Longbeard,
It’s been a year. A year since we last crossed paths. A year of waiting in anticipation for the first signs of spring. A year since I’ve listened to the woods come alive with the sounds of songbirds and the hooting of owls. It’s been a year, and so here is what I’ve missed.
I miss the early alarms. I miss the calm in the morning air, and I miss the lightning that runs through me when your call bellows out through dimly lit timber.
I miss the cat-and-mouse games, the long, drawn-out days, and the “almosts” and “should’ve beens” that don’t end in my favor.
Writing this now, I realize that this is a problem. A sickness. An obsession. One that grips me and many men like me who foolishly stumble their way into the awakening woods.
The commonality between every man or woman who finds themselves with their back up against a tree this time of year is love. The love of the chase, the love of the commitment, the camaraderie, and for you. The Wild Turkey. For the love of you. For us, these days are dedicated to you.
I guess what I’m trying to say is thank you. Thank you for the memories, thank you for the hunts, and thank you for the comeback. From just 200,000 to over 7 million, your presence on the landscape doesn’t go unnoticed.
I hope we cross paths soon, but until then, long live the longbeard.
With Love, Admiration, and Respect
-A Turkey Hunter
Artwork by Jared Knox