A fierce battle played out in our garden every single day of Spring this year. It was the Fornaros versus the bush turkeys. These feathered demolition experts had narrowed in on their target – the freshly mulched garden at the bottom of our yard. Prime nesting real estate.
Each morning we woke to the same crime scene: mulch flung to the horizon, plants gasping for air, and smug turkey footprints tracing a very deliberate path of destruction. They were most active at sunrise and sunset, clearly casing the joint while searching for the perfect nesting site.
At random intervals you’d hear Annie yell, “Bogey at 2 o’clock!” and we’d all spring into action, shooing the offender away with military precision. Mulch would be raked back into place, we’d turn our backs…and hope.
After days of bogey calls and relentless raking, we knew it was time to escalate. First idea – sprinklers. Surely turkeys hate water? Turns out what they love even more than thick mulch is steaming wet mulch, apparently the ideal environment for incubating turkey eggs. Congratulations to us, we inadvertently opened a bush turkey maternity ward, and our intruders multiplied from two to four.
Next came the mirror, courtesy of a rushed St Vinnies visit. One turkey caught sight of its reflection, assumed it was another turkey with serious attitude, and launched into battle. Pecking. Puffing. Flapping. The mirror, undefeated, refused to engage. Eventually the turkey retreated, confused and humiliated – a small but satisfying win for the Fornaros.
Unfortunately, victory was short-lived once the turkeys realised the “enemy” vanished when they walked behind the mirror. Sigh.
Then came the firewood deployment. With next season’s woodpile in full abundance thanks to yours truly, we laid log after log across the mulch like defensive barricades. The turkeys took this as a personal challenge, as if we’d just built them a cross-fit course. They dug around the logs and somehow emerged fitter for the effort.
Finally, the masterstroke: chicken wire. Carefully laid beneath the mulch, it shut the digging down completely. Their efforts were intense, but after days of no success they retreated back into the bush. For now, peace has returned to our garden. The mulch remains intact. The logs sit proudly in place. Victory may actually be ours.
That said, our adversaries still patrol the yard daily, scouting for weaknesses and clearly planning for the 2026 nesting season. But never underestimate the Fornaros – our garden stands strong, even if it now resembles a slightly unhinged timber art installation.
Go back, bush turkeys. We’re watching.
And for the record, no bush turkeys were harmed in this long and absurd suburban battle…as for their egos, that’s another story entirely.
