An indomitable figure stood poised in the doorway of the monastery trapeza, binoculars at the ready, scanning the distant horizon. It was no ordinary day in paradise. It was no minor feast for which this soldier of the kitchen kept vigil this afternoon. It was a cold, soggy, quintessentially overcast November day: The Day. The long-awaited, long-promised Day. The Day of …

…The Annual Turkey Distribution. Yes. Any moment now, the flock would descend, according to ancient tradition. There was no flutter of wings, no rumble of distant gobbling as of yet. But they would come. The stalwart leader of the 54th Poultry Collection Battalion stood his ground and recited the well-known prophecy:

And each turkey shall bear in its claws a large kielbasa, and in its beak a jar of horseradish. Like manna, they shall fall from the heavens, enough for each household. Woe to him who gathers too many turkeys, for it is only permitted that the turkey be eaten this one day. Woe to the woman who shall save the leftovers for soup and woe to the man who shall attempt to eat the leftovers before they be made into soup. A plague shall descend upon their house, turning the turkey to kale on the second day.

The autumnal breeze (known anywhere else as a ferocious gale) shifted, and as the trees swayed and leaves whipped up in cyclones around him, he saw it: the small shadow swelling into a dark, delicious cloud. It was time. He readied the nets and cried into his walkie-talkie for reinforcements. From all corners of the monastery came the rest of the squadron and Operation Capture the Turkeys was in full-swing. 

“Steady! Steady, everyone! Remember not to let them drop the kielbasa and mind you don’t break the jars! The fowls will be frozen solid when they arrive, but will start to thaw almost immediately. Once they thaw, there is no looking back. They cannot be safely re-frozen. We’ve got to get them distributed as soon as possible…steady there…And…the Birds Have Landed!”

In a chaotic cacophony of feathers and half-smothered gobbles, the providential poultry was soon gathered to rest in the trapeza refrigerator, and the word began to travel to the far reaches of the land that the annual turkeys had once more arrived and were waiting to make the last stage of their journey—home. May they be eaten in Peace.