One of the biggest things beyond cutting the pig in winter in some cultures, was to cut a turkey. I remember when mom and dad would go to the Farmer’s Market and come home with a living turkey. I didn’t like turkeys. I thought they were mean. Anyway, that day dad had the turkey tied up to a stick in our common yard and he got in the house to do some preparations. I was about 4 or 5 years old and pretty bored at that time of the day. I knew a song to sing to make the turkey spread its feathers and put on a ferocious look. I sang the song, and by the time dad came to cut the turkey, our bird was offended, mad and ready to jump on me.
When dad came outside, I rushed inside and covered my ears. Mom went in the yard carrying a basin. The whole event had brought together some of our neighbors,who were talking and sharing recipes.
Mom made soup, turkey roast and turkey cabbage rolls, which none I liked. They insisted and bribed me to taste them, but I ended up eating mashed potatoes with pickles.