Despite a misleading name, Arkansas Turkey Week isn’t really a seven-days-long affair. By my estimation, it lasted for about 15 minutes. On the steps of the Arkansas Capitol, on a nearly cloudless Monday afternoon, about 75 people assembled for a tonally bifurcated straddle between a sincere sendup of the Arkansas poultry industry and the sardonic pardoning of two very well-behaved turkeys. In attendance were 4-H’ers and Future Farmers of America (FFA), their proud relatives, some folks representing the Arkansas Department of Agriculture and a gaggle of people from the University of Arkansas’s Division of Agriculture. A rather insular crowd, one might say.
While Governor Hutchinson – the person with the state-sanctioned power to offer forgiveness to already innocent animals – was arguably the centerpiece of this gathering, the real main event was the turkeys. Throughout Hutchinson’s speech hereby declaring that November 20-26 of this year would now be considered Arkansas Turkey Week, two toms – one black and one chocolate – gobbled loudly in a manner that seemed nearly involuntary, as if erupting out of the spine and into their babushka-shaped heads. “Should I give them the microphone?” Hutchinson asked jokingly.
Another interesting dimension of my gobble analysis: These guttural calls almost always sounded in unison, one screech spurring on the next, as if it’s impossible to do it alone. I was captivated. To be honest, the gobbles were so distracting that it was occasionally hard to make out some of the very impressive statistics being announced to the audience, namely that Arkansas is third in turkey production in the United States, which comes out to roughly 27 million turkeys – or over 500 million pounds of protein – per year.
The biggest mystery of Arkansas Turkey Week, beyond the question of what exactly it’s for, was why one of the turkeys was kept in a cage while the other was free to roam. When I spoke with their owner, a ninth grade FFA member from Cabot named Jackson Barber (who was sporting an incredibly stylish, red-tinged and lushly curled mullet), he informed me that George, the chocolate-colored and gently imprisoned one, is new to public appearances and is therefore unpredictable. He worried George might charge at someone or try to fly too high. The black turkey, Randy, is a seasoned pro, so he was allowed to strut his stuff in a less supervised manner. It’s hard not to privately wish that they’d both been permitted to do their own thing. What’s more American than a couple wiley turkeys perched on top of the Capitol?
