In Which I Insanely Haul the 500 lb. Turkey Down the Hill

My arms are incredibly sore this morning. There's a good reason for it...or maybe a bad reason, depending on how you look at it. No, it's not from typing (I'm not the most muscle-endowed person I know, but I can type.

Yesterday I hauled a 500 pound turkey 700 feet down the hill from my grandparents house to our house. No kidding, I know it was five hundred pounds! This back-breaking labor was not a form of cruel and unusual punishment, nor was it penance or anything of that nature...it was merely a result of the sheer stupidity and stubborn determination of a Nano-crazed girl.

It was like this...I came home from taking Mattie to piano lessons when it was close to supper time, ready to write. As I drove in, Dad, who was outside sowing grass seed in our barren yard, stopped and asked me to drive up to Grammie's and fetch the turkey she wanted to give us. Well, that was fine. I was planning to come straight home and doctor my Nano wordcount a little before supper, but getting the turkey was not too big of a deal. I drove up, parked the car, and went to the door. After knocking for quite a while to no avail, I got impatient, and seeing that there was no car in the driveway, went back home. I told Mom about it.

"Oh, she's gone somewhere, and Paw Paw's in the back. I think she just wanted you to walk in and get it. It's on the counter."

Ok. I climbed back into the car and drove up again. Sure enough, the door was unlocked, so I went right in to pillage the turkey. The bird was enormous. It was adorned in trappings of tin foil, and sat in a shallow roasting pan full of greasy bird juice. I hefted it off the counter and started for the door. I had to set it down in order to open the door, and as I did so, the drippings sloshed mildly. Well, that wasn't so bad, but what was going to happen when I put it in the van? I could just picture Dad's face when he saw the trunk of his van painted in abstract turkey juice. No way.

By this time, my arms were sagging with the turkey's weight, and I frantically searched for somewhere to make an emergency landing before I dropped the thing and sent cooked turkey hurtling into next Thanksgiving. (The drive where I had parked was sharply slanted.) After I had set down the turkey, I employed my best Cassie-logic and took stock of my options.

1. Drive home and find someone to help me, which would probably result in a catastrophic turkey mess anyway.

2. Find an old towel (which would probably get ruined) to line everything with. (That,too, could be a very messy ordeal.)

I completely forgot that we had a truck I could have used.

So, I wasn't thinking so clearly. I had been pretty emotional all day, and was feeling unreasonably distressed, helpless, and close to tears over the wretched turkey. I was really only thinking about one thing: How I could get home in the least amount of time WITH the turkey and WITHOUT the mess, and tackle that novel. The seconds were ticking away, and I knew deep down that it was too late for pre-supper writing anyway. But at that moment, some fearsome force of super-human bullheaded strength took over my frail and helpless person, and, banishing all reason from my mind, I strode over to the 500 pound turkey and lifted it with my own two arms. Then I set off down the hill, bearing the onerous piece of poultry in its pool of oily drippings.

By this time, anger, desperation, and a host of other emotions were driving me down the hill, arms trembling.

"Dumb turkey! Dumb turkey! Dumb turkey" (I didn't say this aloud, because, after all, the bird was so big it was bound to have feelings lodged in there somewhere, even if he was cooked. Besides, I'm not sure I'm aloud to say "dumb.") Then, in a split second, as I had landed the turkey in the grass to briefly relieve my aching arms, I remembered "I'm supposed to be thankful for this turkey, aren't I?" Deb and I had been discussing thankfulness, and thanks to her I had been practicing at it here and there all afternoon. I heaved the turkey up again.

"Thank you Lord, for the turkey...thank you Lord for the turkey...thank you for this dumb turkey, Lord!" And so on. I only prayed my cousins wouldn't happen to walk down their driveway at that moment to see their demented relative speeding for home with a hulking turkey in her arms.

A note to all those planning to shoplift their Thanksgiving turkey: I would just go with spam this year.

Anyway, I had nearly made it to the Little Woods (adjoining our yard,) when my arms really began shaking and quivering and showing signs of betrayal, and the bird became somewhat endangered. Just about 20 yards to go...and there was my Dad, still sowing his seed like a good farmer. And I started thinking to myself, "What is Dad going to say when he sees his daughter carting home this ridiculous hateful overgrown turkey?" The ridiculousness of my own actions was dawning on me as the temporary cloud of insanity began to lift. I could just go ask Dad for some help, but no! I was determined to get that bird home myself!

After another quick break, I summoned all my strength and pride and moral courage and tromped through the short patch of forest at breakneck pace, accelerating as the weight grew on me. Just as I emmerged from the trees into the ploughed-up yard I nearly collapsed. I saw Dad and Dad saw me, and I broke into a fit of weak, semi-hysterical laughter. I didn't know how I would have the strength to explain and pull myself together enough to get into the house with the thing. But my Dad, full of chivalry, just came over and took the turkey from me. I didn't want him to lift it...his back was really hurting...but he wasn't about to stand there and let me collapse, and frankly, I didn't at all mind being rescued.

So, Dad took the turkey, and I stood there shaking, my arms floating around like butterflies out of the their cucoons. Then, feeling like a good pilgrim just released from his burden, I turned and went back up the hill to explain to my newly arrived grandmother why the turkey was gone, the van was there, and I was not.

Note: I did end up Nano-ing about a hundred words before supper time, and after supper succeeded in reaching my 2000 words-per-day goal, which rather surprised me considering the day I'd had. Oh, and we had turkey for supper, too.