What a turkey.

And no, I’m not talking about my son Benson, at least not this time. (Although Brian and I have discussed how Benson is such a funny little mischief that he’s the real turkey at Thanksgiving, not to mention the Christmas ham.)

I’m talking about Ingrid, our Bourbon Red actual turkey. We bought her from some friends as a little baby poult last year, and she quickly became a mainstay on our farm. She seemed to make herself completely at home wherever she chose: she could be found pecking around in the chicken coop, meandering around the perimeter of the house and backyard, and walking down the lane next to the cows coming out of the milking parlor. She would often give me a mini heart-attack if I went by the chicken pen after dusk, her awkward explosion of fluttering and clucking out of the adjacent peach tree showing that the feeling was mutual.

One of the times she surprised me the most, however, was when I was pulling weeds in our strawberry patch this summer. This tells you how way-past-time it was for me to be doing that, but I had zero idea that Ingrid was nestled into a particularly overgrown section at the end of the patch. To be fair, I was looking for weeds, not turkeys; needless to say, I was surprised when I reached down for a clump of crabgrass and almost touched her soft brown feathers.

I was thrilled when I discovered her reason for nesting there was a clutch of large, lightly-speckled eggs. Baby poultry are just adorable...but my excitement waned when I sheepishly remembered about a day later that we only have one turkey, which means we only have one turkey. Ingrid seemed so set on nesting, though, that I swapped out a few of her unfertilized eggs for a couple possibly-viable ones from some negligent hens and ducks.

It seemed like a very long time, and it seemed like literally every single time I looked, Ingrid was sitting on those eggs. Rain or shine, there she was. And then one day she wasn’t — because she was walking around with a fluffy, storybook-yellow duckling waddling, flapping, and cheeping behind her.

They were an unlikely pair, lanky red-brown Ingrid with her long neck and four-toed feet, and puffy golden Stuart with his tiny rounded beak and webbed feet. But my goodness they were adorable.

Yet alas. Ingrid must have gotten wind of Thanksgiving being around the corner. Although we may have initially started raising turkeys thinking they might end up on our holiday table, we gave up on that long ago when the other five poults disappeared one by one by natural means; as the sole turkey survivor, Ingrid had clinched her place in culinary safety and in my heart. But I never told her that. The cats and chickens must have started some nasty rumors, and it seems the thought of impending doom was too much for Ingrid to handle. We came home from church last week, and Ingrid was gone.

I tried to save her, but it seemed there was nothing we could do.

Ingrid lived a good life. She didn’t look like anyone else here, but she was happy to just be her awkward self; she sacrificially cared for children that didn’t look anything like her; she made her home wherever she was. Some odd life lessons from a turkey.

So tomorrow on Thanksgiving, I’ll be eating turkey with the rest of us. And I’ll be looking forward to spring when we’ll try again with another round of turkey poults.

Cast-Iron Crusty-Top Spoon Bread

It seemed too odd to share a recipe for turkey after just having written so much about a turkey — and since this article is being printed the day before Thanksgiving, you probably should already have a turkey plan. But it felt like the right place to share a quick easy side to throw in the oven, and in honor of turkeys’ favorite food, this recipe features corn. I’m a huge fan of cornbread (I was born in Alabama, so I kind of have to be), but I wanted something that felt a little different, and spoonbread fit the ticket.

Baking anything in a cast iron makes it look more epic, plus it retains heat well, so it’s ideal for a day when you might be needing the oven for multiple items.

Prep tips: depending on how firm you want this recipe, vary the amount of milk in the batter. For closer to cornbread texture, use the lesser amount; for a softer/more spoonable bake, use any amount up to the 3 ¼ cups.

1 cup yellow cornmeal

⅓ cup all-purpose or whole-wheat flour

1 teaspoon salt

1 ½ teaspoons baking powder

3 tablespoons sugar or local honey

2 ¼ - 3 ¼ cups whole milk or buttermilk

2 eggs

3 tablespoons butter

Mix cornmeal, flour, salt, and baking powder. Whisk in sugar, milk, and eggs.

Melt butter in an 8-inch cast iron skillet; pour in batter. Bake at 375° for about 45 minutes, although oven time will vary depending on the amount of milk used.

Amanda Miller lives with her husband, almost-two-years-old son, and whoever else God brings them through foster care on the family dairy farm in Hutchinson. She enjoys doing some catering, teaching cooking classes, and freelancing, but mostly chasing after her kid(s). Reach her at hyperpeanutbutter@gmail.com.