Git The Crambaby Sauce!

I can never think of cranberry sauce without thinking of one of my best friends from high school.  His niece was really young at the time and couldn't pronounce cranberry so she called it crambaby sauce.  Kind of gross if you try to visualize it in a literal sense.

At 4:15 yesterday afternoon, I caught a glimpse out the sunroom windows of something moving in the neighbor's back yard, near the pond.  Moving closer to the windows to get a better look, I counted around a dozen wild turkeys.  They were large and healthy-looking.  Feathers all in place and walking proudly.  Most of the ones that hang around my mother's house are smaller and often have disheveled feathers so it was nice to see this rather Audubon Society-esque scene right at my own back yard.  Not wanting to spook them, I quietly stepped outside to get a quick photo, but this is the best one I could get.  My cell phone camera is awful, plus they started cautiously easing into the woodline as they heard the dry grass under my feet.

If you squint, cock your head slightly, and bite your tongue just right, you might be able to see the turkeys I circled.

And, so I don't get chased down by some turkey rights organization, I am not going to hurt them.