Memories from The Turkey Farm
After the services on the second day of Rosh Hashanah, many years ago, dressed in our holiday fineries, Peter and I would get into the car and drive to wherever fancy would take us. Actually, it was really where the fancy took Peter. I was happy just sitting back and going wherever he took us. I never was disappointed, for we always ended in lovely places that lent to lovely memories in years to come. In those days he really enjoyed driving. He had a lot of energy. As long as we put on our Four Seasons compact disc, we could drive to the moon and he would still feel invigorated.
At any rate, that one Rosh Hashanah, he pointed the car out of town onto a quiet country road. The weather was magical autumnal weather. The hues of the foliage were brilliantly dazzling. Our eyes thirstily absorbed the colors of the leaves, as a man greedily drinks the crystal clear water of a running brook on a hot summer day, or a blind man gains sight for the first time. Of course, the hearing of the shofar on such a holy day heightened our senses to what God had gifted us on that special day. The sound of the shofar blowing travels deep into one’s soul. I leaned back on the car seat and absorbed all the beauty of that day.
I did not know where we were headed to, nor which state we were in. It seemed we were driving for quite a while. The country roads were hilly and they twisted this way and that. It seemed they were meandering as aimlessly as we were. Eventually, we began feeling a bit hungry and were on the lookout for a place to eat. We soon saw a big sign. “The Turkey Farm And Restaurant,” it announced. Peter slowed down, and we peered through the open gate.
“Let’s try it. We have nothing to lose,” I said. He backed up a bit and entered through the gate. We followed the sign to the parking area. As we got out of the car, two peacocks strolled by as if they were the greeting committee. They were beautiful! Without taking too many steps into this farm, we were already utterly charmed. Turkeys gobbled, swans glided serenely on a small body of water. There were even llamas wandering about. I kept my distance from them. The last time I had petted one, it paid me the compliment of nibbling a part of my shawl! It felt as if we had entered some kind of animal wonderland.
As we looked about us, we noticed several buildings. One of them said, “Restaurant.” We headed towards it. Since it was the middle of the week, we were seated almost immediately. We looked about us. It was quite a large dining room and was about half full. Soft background music was playing. The tables were set with heavy cutlery, ivory-colored dishes, and starched linen napkins. We unfolded the napkins onto our laps and looked at the menu. We should have guessed. The majority of the menu consisted of food made of turkey, although, to be fair, they also included some meat and seafood dishes. Since we were at a turkey farm, we chose turkey dishes. We started with a hearty thick soup that was simply luscious. If we had not ordered the rest of the meal, I would have been more than content with the soup. It was served in old-fashioned big deep soup bowls, accompanied with large heavy soup spoons of old which are rarely seen nowadays. I relished each spoonful. Peter could never understand my fondness for soups. “Soup is not a meal, Stella! It’s a first course!” he would remind me when I sometimes served it as a main meal. It doesn’t matter what others say, I simply love soup.
We had a leisurely and very pleasant meal. We loved each other’s company, and that day felt perfect. Peter had coffee and a dessert; I had coffee. By the time we were done with our meal, the skies outside were darkening. We sighed with contentment as we got up to go. The peacocks fanned out their stunning feathers in a final goodbye. The llamas approached us shyly. “Won’t you please pet us? We promise not to nibble at your clothes,” they asked with gentle pleading eyes, and of course, we did. The turkeys gobbled their goodbyes as well, and the swans just glided on the water, in their own serene little world. It was the perfect ending to a perfect day. Reluctantly we got into the car, once more, we played our Four Seasons compact disc as we headed back home.
That was so very many years ago, yet it seems as if it were yesterday. Sadly, Peter is not here anymore, but what lovely memories left for me to cherish.
I wish you all a very sweet and healthy year. Shana Tova!