Despite the name of this blog post, I’m not writing in November. There are  no Thanksgiving circulars in the paper, no Macy’s Day parade, no runners finishing a 10K before sitting down to dinner.

It’s June and I’m sitting on the porch, in our little corner of Washington County, Alabama remembering the real turkey trot – two hens and nine chicks, who circled the house less than a month ago. More importantly, I’m understanding why it happened – because we let nature do what nature does, instead of bending it to our idea of beauty and perfection.

For years, my father-in-law Preston kept a well-manicured lawn between the house and the lake. Though hardly a country estate, mowing gave the dog-trot cabin a neat appearance and kept the grass from tickling our legs while walking to take a swim. The grass was always tidiest before company arrived. This year, Preston and Lynn decided to forgo bush hogging, instead, allowing the wild flowers to bloom among the grasses.

Oh, how the turkeys and song birds love it.

The hens ignored us, while finding their breakfast in the open field of tall grass.

One Sunday morning in May, while drinking our coffee on the porch, Lynn and I were astonished to see two turkey hens, trailed by nine chicks, come within 30 feet of the house. They walked past the barn, the tractor, and my SUV, heads thrusting, in turkey fashion, while snatching bugs from the knee-high grass. It was such a feast, they didn’t seem to notice as I slipped in the house for my camera and later followed them on video. To hell with neatness, this was a turkey’s idea of perfect.

At the rear of the house, the turkeys seemed more aware of human presence but continued to circle the building, albeit with caution.

It made me wonder why some of us, myself included, reach for perfectionism, whether in our personal lives or personal space, in the first place. (Yes, psychologists have studied the question for ages, but it took some tall grass and a lot of working from home time to bring it front and center for me.)  A friend once confessed she struggles daily trying to overcome the desire to be perfect. It’s nothing new to note, in the era of social media, she’s certainly not alone. Who doesn’t have a perfect family on Facebook, even if behind the scenes, things are a god awful mess? Instagram is filled with photographs, carefully edited and filtered to blur the imperfections. “Perfect” is the word our president tweets to describe phone calls, meetings, and anything else agreeing with his viewpoint.

Yoga has taught me that to seek perfectionism in my own life, is to let my ego get in the way of the real work. I recently joined a small group of individuals for early morning, outdoor classes with a fitness trainer. As the oldest person in the group, I often use the low-impact modification of various exercises. I have zero anxiety about the modification even as the rest of the group executes flawless jumping jacks. In my younger years, while it could result in injury, I would have chosen the high-impact option, because to do less would have meant I wasn’t good enough. In the same light, I’ve often had individuals tell me they could never practice yoga because the poses look too difficult. They believe, that to practice yoga means one must execute the poses perfectly. I’m the first to admit, after twelve years of  practicing yoga, I look nothing like the models who can touch their heels to the floor in downward dog.  The practice isn’t about reaching the floor, but rather accepting the notion it’s okay if it never happens.

Back at the camp, nature has demonstrated the seemingly imperfect, like tall, overgrown grass can produce spectacular experiences. Two Eastern Kingbirds, members of the flycatcher family, have taken up residence, plucking their meals from the overgrown field. The turkeys returned the following weekend, but without their chicks. We haven’t seen them since and when I grab the binoculars to search for signs of movement, Lynn gently suggests, like a comet in a night sky, it may have been a rare sighting. A sighting that makes for a good story and a reminder that, like the grass, we should all embrace a little messiness in our lives.

Note: As I was uploading the video below, I realized I was so excited to capture the turkeys in motion that I failed to turn the phone horizontal while shooting the video. Oops, guess I’m not perfect.