The lone turkey hen who comes into the yard now and then was, again by herself, across a newly mown field near the edge of the woods 80 yards off the road as I walked this morning. Would love to know her story. Haven’t seen chicks in two years or a male in longer than that. And I’m happy to report that walking in the country, in a place where you’ve lived for a quarter century, is a pretty rewarding experience. Invariably I talk to one or two people who are out, and the connections stitch us and the area together nicely, like a patched, comfortable piece of clothing.