The next day, we woke up at 4:00 AM to start heading home. Bad weather had finally settled across the state, turning the roads slick and making it hard to see. Our five hour drive turned into a seven hour drive, but I did not care. I was proud of what I had accomplished the day before. I wouldn't have complained if we had to stay a night in another mountain town hotel. I was just so full of joy from the turkey hunt. 

When I finally made it home that afternoon, I waved my grandparents goodbye, who would take charge of the meat for me. The turkey breasts were for Easter dinner the following weekend at uncle Courtney's house. My grandma found a wonderful recipe for the wild turkey. 

My grandma marinated the turkey in buttermilk for two days, and then at uncle Courtney's Easter Sunday, tossed it around in some flour and mild spices, and then pan-fried it. While she cooked it, uncle Courtney let me ride his best horse, Smudge, who was really just young and wild and needed to get some exercise in. I rarely get to actually ride horses, so it was nice to get back in the saddle again before dinner. 

Everyone, including my mom, wolfed down that turkey. I was surprised that my mom actually enjoyed the wild turkey. She's not a fan of wild game, and probably would be against hunting if it wasn't for me. I was pretty glad to see her, and the rest of the family, enjoy what I had provided for them, or more specifically, what God provided for us, since it took a few prayers and miracles to bring that tom turkey home.

That's ultimately why hunters hunt these days. Food for the table is extremely important, and there are laws in place that make hunters eat the wild game that they kill, except for if it's vermin, such as a ground hog or a coyote. Even then, those things can still be prepared and eaten, though they often have diseases and hidden parasites.

Poachers are the ones who just hunt to kill, or hunt just for a set of antlers. Hunters hate poachers probably more than anyone else, and we actively fight against them and their actions constantly. It's ok to brag about the size of the antlers of your kills, just as long as you ate what you hunted too, or at least gave the meat to someone who would eat it. 

The two guys that were hunting on Tom's land gave Tom their wild turkeys. They didn't like the taste of wild game, but they came all the way from Chicago for the adventure, and in the end, gave the meat to someone who would eat it. They didn't hunt for the feathers or the fan. They didn't even hunt for the meat. They hunted because they loved the adventure of hunting, and were extremely grateful that Tom allowed them to hunt on his land. Just the adventure of hunting is worth the trouble of training and studying, buying tags and gear, and withstanding the elements. Tom's wife said her favorite game was wild turkey meat, and those two turkeys wouldn't last a month at her house. 

To be honest, I can eat an entire pronghorn in two weeks if I don't control myself, but I decide to let it last at least a month, because like all wild game, pronghorn is precious and rare. As for the turkey, it lasted a lot longer than a month because my grandparents had the meat in their freezer. Plus, I wasn't used to cooking wild turkey, and didn't want to ruin the meat, so I let my grandparents handle it and turn it into food we could all enjoy.

Aside from frying up the turkey's breasts and heart, the turkey's legs were turned into soup, and its carcass was used to make a few gallons of bone broth, which were amazing in so many ways. The turkey soup tasted like nothing I've ever had before, and I loved it. And I love drinking a mug of hot chocolate during the cold winter evenings, but nothing can beat a hot mug of wild turkey broth when it's cold and snowy outside. 

Finally, the turkey feather fan, beard, and legs, all turned out nicely. I keep them all displayed on shelves at home, except for the legs. My grandpa liked them so much that I gave them to him, and they're currently set up on a shelf in his garage. 

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