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The Sound of Turkey Hunting


A tear rolls down my cheek each time I place a few freshly harvested tail feathers on my grandpa’s grave. Every spring the sound of the wild turkey echoes through the hills of West Virginia. I’m reminded of my grandpa, the man responsible for what led to an obsession and love for hunting and being in the outdoors. Every spring I take to the woods with my gun and time to reflect on some of my best childhood memories hunting turkeys.

To give you a since of time my grandpa was born in 1912 and It’s been 14 years since he passed away. Every spring I take a bouquet of what I call fresh f