Writer’s Journal
There are Turkeys at Harvard
It’s no joke! There are turkeys in Cambridge!
A few months ago, I went on a trip to the northeast, primarily to look at colleges, but tangentially in order to eat a lot. We spent a lot of time in Boston, and at one point made a stop at Harvard. Despite my interest in prestigious schools, I don’t want to attend Harvard, and I never really have. This was confirmed by this realization: you can always tell who the students are and who the tourists are because
- the students have backpacks
- they look depressed.
And Harvard seems like a lot of work and a lot of money in order to feel quite miserable.
So, we made our way through the campus fairly quickly, because while the architecture was beautiful, everything else just made me sad.
Beyond the gates of the campus itself, I realized how engulfed Harvard is by the city. I suppose I always assumed it was some secluded mind palace for doctors, and lawyers, and Mark Zuckerberg.
We went to Harvard’s bookstore from there, which is outside of the campus. And we’re walking, and suddenly, on my left, is a turkey, completely unbothered by us. I mean, it was sauntering around the way a pigeon strolls through New York. I couldn’t believe it. So I whipped out my phone and started snapping photos, because it was, to a midwestern boy, quite unreal.
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. I knew there were turkeys in this part of the northeast — and I know that Benjamin Franklin wanted the turkey to be the national bird — but I suppose I didn’t expect it to be so up close and personal.
After a bunch of photos and shock, both from the fact that the turkeys and the people around us were so calm, we kept on walking.
Later that night I looked it up, to see if this was some random, bizarre, occurrence.
It's not. There are turkeys at Harvard.
In one story I read, they even use the crosswalks. And I’m sure it is done with the same haphazard nature with which I found many Bostoners to be crossing the street. Good for them.
Like me, turkeys don’t want to get into Harvard. They’re already in. And like me, turkeys are only interested in where their next worm is coming from.
Well, that’s not entirely true — but — I am, despite my best efforts, quite envious of those turkeys. And I have a feeling those depressed Harvard students are too.
Look, they get to stroll around all day with their chests puffed out — idiots are taking pictures of them. They get to gossip with their turkey friends, and they don’t have schedules to follow. There is no class they’re rushing to, and they don’t have to learn whatever the hell an integral is. That’s the life!
So, I guess if you take one thing away from this, it’s that if you end up in Cambridge, you’ve got two options: run to class with the students, or gossip with the turkeys. Your pick.
