Review of 'Illumination in the Flatwoods'

  • By Donald Dale Jackson
  • Smithsonian magazine, January 1997, Subscribe
 

Illumination in the Flatwoods by Joe Hutto
Lyons & Burford

To Joe Hutto, a wildlife artist from Florida, it seemed an intriguing opportunity, a chance to imprint and raise a few wild turkeys from eggs that had been exposed by tractors mowing over their grassy habitat. It eventually became something far different, a full-time job as the single parent of not a few, but more than 20, young turkeys through the difficult and dangerous first year of their lives. More than that, the opportunity became for Hutto a transforming and profound experience, one that demanded setting everything else aside for however long it took, a chance encounter that was for both him and the turkeys "love at first sight."

Hutto made sure that he was indeed the first sight each chick saw when it hatched, thus "imprinting" him as parent and protector. It happened with their eyes: "He raises his shaking wet head and looks me square in the eyes. In that brief moment I see a sudden and unmistakable flash of recognition." And thus he's hooked, off on an extraordinarily consuming journey of feeding and communicating (he seemed to talk turkey naturally), learning and exploring and growing.

The poults swarm around him, fall asleep in his lap; they want to touch and be touched. They let him know what he can wear (no red or purple, and they didn't much care for his beige shirt, either) and what he can eat in their presence (nothing besides apples). For Hutto the rewards are the rewards of parenthood — respect, attention, unquestioning love, pride in their development and accomplishments. When he sees them each morning "a small cheer goes up from the crowd" — in turkey talk, of course.

Hutto describes their daily walks as they explore together their Florida Panhandle home turf. The dangers in their habitat are not so much from man, for a change, but nature — predators and disease. Hutto builds a pen out of small-mesh wire, but it doesn't protect them from a rat snake that slithers through one afternoon to kill one, or from a weasel that takes three in a nocturnal raid. Red-shouldered hawks are a constant menace, and the young turkeys show an intense interest in anything in the sky, even taking note of planes a mile overhead. Rattlesnakes and copperheads live in the neighborhood; the turkeys instinctively give them the deference and space they deserve.

The author's odyssey evolves from a story of a man and his birds, of "me" and "them," to something more like a family tale, a story of "us." Hutto laments, in the low-key field-note style he maintains through most of Illumination in the Flatwoods, his inability to fly. "I consider my flightless condition to be inconvenient," he writes with the faintest hint of well-concealed humor, "and an overall handicap in this study."

You get the feeling that if he could fly he wouldn't do anything showy, just continue to cruise along with the flock and make the occasional note. Turkey and parent traverse their patch of Florida flatwoods at what he calls "wild turkey speed." This he defines as "that speed beyond which an organism becomes stupid on a scale proportional to the relative increase." Turkeys move at a pace that maximizes awareness while minimizing effort. "A wild turkey always proceeds as if he were in the perfect place at the perfect time."

Not a bad way to be, all things considered, and Hutto concludes: "I have never kept better company or known more fulfilling companionship. Our communication, although somewhat abstract, is completely satisfying, and our interests are identical: plants, insects, reptiles, birds, mammals, the odd bone, interesting artifacts."


Illumination in the Flatwoods by Joe Hutto
Lyons & Burford

To Joe Hutto, a wildlife artist from Florida, it seemed an intriguing opportunity, a chance to imprint and raise a few wild turkeys from eggs that had been exposed by tractors mowing over their grassy habitat. It eventually became something far different, a full-time job as the single parent of not a few, but more than 20, young turkeys through the difficult and dangerous first year of their lives. More than that, the opportunity became for Hutto a transforming and profound experience, one that demanded setting everything else aside for however long it took, a chance encounter that was for both him and the turkeys "love at first sight."

Hutto made sure that he was indeed the first sight each chick saw when it hatched, thus "imprinting" him as parent and protector. It happened with their eyes: "He raises his shaking wet head and looks me square in the eyes. In that brief moment I see a sudden and unmistakable flash of recognition." And thus he's hooked, off on an extraordinarily consuming journey of feeding and communicating (he seemed to talk turkey naturally), learning and exploring and growing.

The poults swarm around him, fall asleep in his lap; they want to touch and be touched. They let him know what he can wear (no red or purple, and they didn't much care for his beige shirt, either) and what he can eat in their presence (nothing besides apples). For Hutto the rewards are the rewards of parenthood — respect, attention, unquestioning love, pride in their development and accomplishments. When he sees them each morning "a small cheer goes up from the crowd" — in turkey talk, of course.

Hutto describes their daily walks as they explore together their Florida Panhandle home turf. The dangers in their habitat are not so much from man, for a change, but nature — predators and disease. Hutto builds a pen out of small-mesh wire, but it doesn't protect them from a rat snake that slithers through one afternoon to kill one, or from a weasel that takes three in a nocturnal raid. Red-shouldered hawks are a constant menace, and the young turkeys show an intense interest in anything in the sky, even taking note of planes a mile overhead. Rattlesnakes and copperheads live in the neighborhood; the turkeys instinctively give them the deference and space they deserve.

The author's odyssey evolves from a story of a man and his birds, of "me" and "them," to something more like a family tale, a story of "us." Hutto laments, in the low-key field-note style he maintains through most of Illumination in the Flatwoods, his inability to fly. "I consider my flightless condition to be inconvenient," he writes with the faintest hint of well-concealed humor, "and an overall handicap in this study."

You get the feeling that if he could fly he wouldn't do anything showy, just continue to cruise along with the flock and make the occasional note. Turkey and parent traverse their patch of Florida flatwoods at what he calls "wild turkey speed." This he defines as "that speed beyond which an organism becomes stupid on a scale proportional to the relative increase." Turkeys move at a pace that maximizes awareness while minimizing effort. "A wild turkey always proceeds as if he were in the perfect place at the perfect time."

Not a bad way to be, all things considered, and Hutto concludes: "I have never kept better company or known more fulfilling companionship. Our communication, although somewhat abstract, is completely satisfying, and our interests are identical: plants, insects, reptiles, birds, mammals, the odd bone, interesting artifacts."

He is at pains to defend turkeys against those who would slander their intelligence or character. Crows, for example, are forever being trotted out as the Mensa members of avian society, but Hutto gives the nod for smarts to wild turkeys — more complex socially, more curious, possessing a more complicated vocabulary. He also rejects the traditional libel that turkeys drown because they're too lunk-headed to lower their heads and come out of the rain. They in fact have a "rain posture," he explains — head up and body down, to minimize the exposed surface.

Inevitably, of course, Papa Hutto has to let go; it turns out to be harder than he ever imagined. By this time he's become about as close to being a turkey in human skin as nature permits — "I haven't started eating grasshoppers yet, but the smooth green ones, I notice, are beginning to look very attractive." The day comes when they decide against returning to the pen: soon they're not following him anymore, and he feels an old, strangely familiar sorrow — "some closed place deep within, where I must have stored ancient disappointments and betrayals, has been knocked ajar." Here was the empty nest at its most literal, leaving Hutto the parent simultaneously proud and desolate. He probably felt something similar when he finished this fine book.

Reviewer Donald Dale Jackson writes from his home in Connecticut.


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Comments (9)

These kinds of programs give real science a bad image. I am amazed that the Smithsonian did not give a more objective review of this film. The photography is spectacular but there are no questions answered and it teeters on being a parody of people who love animals without realizing the true nature of the objects they love.

Posted by Laura on November 27,2012 | 10:06 PM

http://video.pbs.org/video/2168110328 You could learn a lot about how to live life from these wild turkeys. This may be some of the most inspiring 50+ minutes one will ever spend. It captures an essence of love, communication and humility of relationship rarely seen in life. This is Joe Hutto as the "living man" as a triune of mind-spirit-body sharing in the life of a magnificent group of "wild turkeys" that let him in on the subtle secrets of the natural earth and its wonderful creatures in their natural state of harmonious relationship. When one listens and sees life as it is, it opens it's splendor to one. This is what being awake looks like and how the mundane and simplicity is revealed as ones discernment unfolds and prejudice fades. this exemplifies the space of a healing nurturing relationship. Bravo to you Joe Hutto! You are truly an amazing and inspiring human being in the highest most reverent sense of the term. If you recall Benjamin Franklin wanted the wild turkey to be the national bird, there is more in that choice than meets the eye.

Posted by Harold Olmstead on January 31,2012 | 07:52 PM

Konrad Lorenz imprinted geese almost a century ago. This part is not surprizing. Nor is the general story line. I manage cows on a western range. Doing my best to emulate the advises of Temple Grandin is a challenge.

What is unsettling is the cinematography. Where is the photographer in this year long odessey? Some parts can clearly be edited in to make a better story, but some explanation of how much was staged later and how much was photographed as the chicks developed seems essential to the understanding perhaps even integrity of the piece.

Posted by charlie thomas on November 25,2011 | 08:12 PM

What a wonderful programme. What a man everyone should experience something of this nature. Joe is such an unassuming man that I had to find out more about him. I see that he is now living with some deers. He is a man who is at one with nature. So sorry about Sweetpea.

Posted by Jane Inglis on November 24,2011 | 06:37 AM

I seriously doubt anyone answers these postings.. it's probably just publicity, nevertheless, I am really perplexed.. mostly about one thing, which was never evaluated...
Why did Joe's "Tom Turkey", the one that stuck with him longest, turn against him... I never understood why they didn't evaluate this. I don't think this is an unusual question to ponder. Is it genetic for all males simply to fight to the death? Or,
Also, why were there no more turkey's in the area (ever) again? Was it not indigenous to the turkey.

Posted by barbara.renee on November 20,2011 | 02:32 AM

this guy has the life everyone should experience.(as i sit on the computer to post this comment)

Posted by clay on November 20,2011 | 11:42 AM

Oh me too! That was (My Life As a Turkey) so incredible that I have been thinking about it all day! Now I'm going to buy the book. What an incredible man!!!

Posted by Aria on November 17,2011 | 05:38 PM

Great review of a fascinating and engaging story.

Posted by Pete Mason on November 17,2011 | 04:30 PM

I just finished watching "My Life as a Turkey" and, though I never do this, I had to run directly to the computer to find out more about this charming, wonderful, inquisitive, fascinating, unassuming man. In every way, he speaks for me. He did exactly what I would have done, felt exactly as I would have felt, in every instance. OH! how the world needs more humans like Joe Hutto. "My Life as a Turkey" will be with me for a very long time.

Posted by Cindy Black on November 16,2011 | 01:17 AM



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