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Talkin’ Turkeys

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Howdy, Neighbor. People have been telling Phil he’s a good storyteller for a long time… so we are trying something new and pretty-much non-sales Just sharing occasional sweet stories, tall tales, and life lessons learned around these parts. Northwoods Notes are a new, semi-bi-irregular peek into the heart and mind of Phil Frasier… you can read or listen… whichever you prefer… and you are receiving a copy because you’re a current customer of Frasier’s Plumbing and Heating, Inc. We think you’ll like them, but you can unsubscribe any time by clicking on the link at the bottom. But we hope you give us a chance!





It was a snowy, early spring day in Westby, Wisconsin when I took my dad on his first turkey hunt.  

After roosting the night before, we returned the next chilly morning, settled in, and started calling.

One of the reasons I love turkey hunting is because you can talk to them. It’s similar to elk hunting, except turkeys can’t smell. Good thing, too, or else you’d never get one.

Anyway, that morning, I yelped four or five times, and this one turkey started gobbling.

You should’ve seen the look on my dad’s face when he heard that gobbler. He looked like a little boy on Christmas morning.

A turkey in a grassy clearing, overlayed with a quote about family moments

That turkey came out of the woods and right down the hill.

It was low light, but we were in legal shooting hours. But, there was one problem – dad’s glasses were all fogged up from the cold. He couldn’t see anything.

He said, “It just looks like a blob.”

So I said, “Shoot the blob!”

A turkey walking in the grass. Across the top are the words

Somehow through his foggy glasses, dad was able to squeeze the trigger and drop the bird.

At that moment, he was hooked.

Dad loved turkey hunting. And I loved watching him love turkey hunting.

On our last turkey hunt, we called twenty different Toms. They’d come in hot… then stop. And it was over. They never closed the gap that morning.

But the following morning, for whatever reason, the turkeys weren’t talking.

A turkey in a grassy clearing, overlayed with a quote about quiet turkeys

Then, all of a sudden, my dad got that childlike look in his eyes… because he heard a Tom spitting and drumming, coming in quiet.

Dad picked up his gun, squeezed the trigger, and got the bird.

He was so excited. And I was just as excited for him.

Dad was a quiet, conservative, unemotional man… but those turkeys brought out a side of him that I’d never seen before.

I wouldn’t trade those moments for anything.  

A turkey walking in the grass. Across the top are the words

I’ve made many a memory with some special people… but if I had the chance to relive one of ‘em, it would be with my dad.

He’s always on my mind. I miss him dearly. Especially this time of year when they turkeys are talking.

Make sure you spend time with the folks who mean the most in your life. You’ll be happy you did.

Take care, Neighbor. Take good care.

Phil Frasier.

PS, Scott Cernohous harvested a 34.5-pound male turkey in St. Croix, Wis. It’s the second largest wild turkey ever recorded in America. I bet dad’s eyes would’ve bulged at the sight of that one.

An old couple holding up a turkey on their porch

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