Thanksgiving turkeys, from Bedford County farm to family dinner

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One mid-July day, a chirping cardboard box arrived at the Big Island post office.

In it was more than 100 day-old turkey chicks.

“They called us and said, ‘please come pick up these birds. They’re talking up the place,’” said Ben Coleman, owner of Mountain Run Farm in Sedalia.

Four months later, those birds — all of which have been spoken for — will be served up for Thanksgiving.

In exchange for costing between $60 and $90 apiece, diners can find comfort in knowing exactly where their bird grew up, what it ate and that it lived a good, if short, life.

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Birds of many feathers have right of way, it seems, on the Coleman farm.

Peacocks, Muscovy ducks, roosters, geese, hens and even wild turkeys form an aviary-like chorus that waxes and wanes depending on where the guinea hens are roaming.

This is home. This also is work.

Ben and his wife Carly have farmed this land for nine years, solely focused on raising livestock for meat. Beef, pork, chickens and even catfish are sold from the freezers in a large wooden building they call the store.

To sell meat directly from their farm and charge the real cost, the animals have to be raised a certain way.

The only plants growing in pastures are what have grown for generations. The only fertilizer comes from the back end of the animals grazing. There are no pesticides: The birds eat all the bugs.

“If (customers) come here, they want to know what it ate, how long it’s lived, where it’s been and the whole deal. So that’s what we focused on and I’m honored to have that privilege,” Coleman said. “We take it very seriously. Feeding people is a very serious business.”

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The turkeys living for four months on Mountain Run Farm are the same breed as you get in the grocery story: broad-breasted whites.

The moment they arrive on the farm, they are hustled into brooding pens — closed-in coops with warming lamps, food and water. They have no mother hen, so Coleman takes on that role.

In about four weeks, the birds all have grown their feathers and stand about a foot tall. They are sent outside to live in a large pasture. Small coops stay in the pen in case the turkeys want shelter, but they prefer to stay outside, Coleman said. They are surrounded by a moveable electrical fence, which is needed to keep foxes and coyotes from dining on fresh turkey at night.

The bright white birds purr and chirp and bark. Only occasionally do they gobble. They’re happy birds, Coleman said. They have space. They have room to roam and preen and scratch and just be turkeys.

Every morning he and his son Noah come to feed the birds a mixture of non-genetically modified corn. One of the perks is talking to them, which he does every day.

“And they talk back. I haven’t quite figured out their lingo yet, but I got an idea.”

Despite the connection and entertainment, Coleman knows these birds are for food. He’s had that in mind since they arrived in July.

“It doesn’t hurt my feelings to kill them. It’s written in the Bible that us people are here and the animals are here for us.

“I feel good about it because of the way we’ve taken care of them,” he said.

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“We do thank you turkeys for all the time you’ve spent in the pastures, fertilizing the ground for the next cows to come through,” Coleman says to the eight birds sitting in cages. “And then we’re gonna put you on the table to nourish 100 families.”

This is the first thanksgiving blessing of the day. One by one, the birds will each die quickly and humanely.

As soon as each turkey is dead, it’s dunked several times in hot water to loosen the feathers. The body then heads to a plucker, which spins the carcass around in a washer for 30 seconds and spits the feathers out on the ground.

Carly Coleman then takes the turkey and guts it. It takes just a few minutes before the turkey looks like what you would buy at the store.

On Tuesday, the 100 families that ordered their turkey from Mountain Run Farm over the summer will arrive to select their bird. They pay $4.50 per pound — $90 for a 20-pound turkey.

“They get to look the person in the eye who raised them,” Coleman said. “I’m completely accountable for it.”