Honor
A Memorial Day Reflection from the Turkey Woods
There are Memorial Days that pass quietly, and there are others that settle deeper in my thoughts. This year feels like the latter, a day when remembrance reaches a little farther into what I honor, what I most revere in this life.
I’ve been fortunate in my life. Those in my family who served came home. As a boy, I never knew enough to worry when my father was at sea. He was simply my hero, and I assumed he always would be. We honor those like him on Veterans Day, but on this day, Memorial Day, we think of them too, the living heroes who walk among us.
But today belongs to those who did not.
Memorial Day is for the ones who gave everything, who sacrificed their tomorrows so that we could have ours. It is a debt we can never repay, only honor. And in that moment of reflection, gratitude becomes something more than emotion. It becomes a responsibility, a solemn duty. It becomes motivation to live as the best versions of ourselves, worthy of the gift they left behind.
This year, as in recent years, reflection carries another level of gratitude for what I have in this life. Five years ago, a near‑fatal bout with Covid nearly ended my time among the living. A year later, a gangrenous gallbladder nearly finished me. By all rights, I could have been denied my tomorrows with so much to do, so much unfinished. Yet here I am, another spring, another season, another dawn breaking over the hardwoods. The gift of second and third chances is not wasted in my efforts to be my best version, nor do I suffer any illusion of invincibility.
The turkey woods are my sanctuary, my church. They are where I speak quietly with my Maker, the God I believe in, where I find my bearings, where the noise of the world falls away, and the truth of things rises and reveals. To walk those ridges again this spring, the life I’ve built together with my wife, my children, my family, and friends is a blessing I do not take lightly. It humbles me to know that the fallen never again felt a cool May morning, never again heard a gobble thunder through the timber, never again returned home to family with muddy boots and a full heart. Life is preciously short, painfully too short for those heroes we honor.
Their sacrifice is the reason I still can. That we still can.
So on this Memorial Day, it is fitting that this old turkey hunter reflects, honors, and remembers. Everything I love- the turkey woods, the seasons, the family I return to, the life I’ve been allowed by the grace of God to keep living- came at a price paid in full by heroes who will never grow old.
-MJ
© 2026 Mike Joyner- Joyner Outdoor Media
Girls, Girls, Girls -Late Season in New York
As the 2024 Spring Turkey Season is into its last days, our guest Viking Opera Diva is getting her wardrobe dry-cleaned and gearing up for Friday at high noon.
Unlike Mötley Crüe’s rendition of the song. These sexy feathered babes are out there with a mind of their own, and I have a unique late-season and somewhat perplexing story to tell.
After spotting a gobbler, two jakes, and two hens this past Sunday, and very near to state land I could access their core area with a little boot leather. The long walk to the first sit is far easier than the climb to return to the truck. I would be there early this Memorial Day to see what I could make happen. I sure did, but it was a far different hunt than I had in mind. We had a soaking rain last evening that tapered off right at first light this morning. It was a wet walk going in before daylight, but far more comfortable than sitting in a steady rain.
Super quiet start of the morning, and that included the turkeys. One of my favorite late-season spots in Cuyler, New York, and that added to my anticipation, along with the turkeys we spotted here the day before. I had worked my way down to a small flat along one of the finger ridges I like to check on. With the wet understory, it was a stealthy approach and got to where I wanted to go without disturbing any deer. No gobbling on the roost, or at all for that matter. No tree yelping or the usual small talk you hear as the morning light emerges. I gave a few tree yelps close to the time I thought they might fly down, short and sweet with no feathered responses. The chipmunks, however, loved it.
I heard the first wingbeats close to 6:30 a.m., followed by two more. The first hen landed within gun range off to my left. The next two landed out in front, also within range. They would cluck occasionally. Fast forward an hour and I had a fourth hen come in behind me and start clucking. She came up to the tree I sat at. Other than a very elevated heart rate, no pressure at all. Once she started, she never stopped until she left five minutes later. Her clucks were low volume, soft, and varied in pitch. No whips or whistles and no yelping. None of the four hens ever yelped at all. The other three hens would cluck here and there, with no specific pattern to it. They first came to attention when the fourth hen arrived, but quickly lost interest and paid no mind to her. Best described as akin to a teachers lounge, eat a little, stretch, sit for a bit and so on.
Despite being close to a known roost area with a large facing slope, and all that sweet girl talk, it failed to produce a single gobble for the duration there. As I sat and patiently let it all play out, It had crossed my mind that this might be a common meet-up spot and that a gobbler would come in silent, and as Murphy would have it, on my off-side as well. It never happened, but I sure thought about it. Another hour passed and the three hens drifted off the flat as they fed away, down to the creek. I would head back home once they dropped out of sight.
Despite having live hens with sweet voices to entice gobblers further, I could not buy a gobble, anywhere. The climb back to the truck was so worth being front and center to that many hens for 2-1/2 hours.
It is a first for me to encounter hens like this so late in the season. Still roosting without nests to tend to, and without suitors. So content to just hang with their beasties deep in the turkey woods. I have questions as to how this fits into the overall scheme of things, not to mention, where in the hell are the gobblers, and how they would leave these lovely ladies unattended.
Best of luck to all of you in the final days!
© 2024 Mike Joyner- Joyner Outdoor Media
This Old Turkey Hunter Remembers
A bit of a melancholy kind of Memorial Day as we remember those fallen while engaged in battle, in service to our country. I am fortunate for those family members that have served, eventually came home to continue life onward with us, beyond service to our country. Each time my father returned home from a tour at sea I was too young to know or worry. He was our hero and assumed he always would. We are grateful that was the case.
We honor them on Veterans Day although it is today that we think of them also as they are our living heroes among us. Not to take away from the intent or deep meaning of this day of remembrance. The sacrifice of one’s life in service to us is a profound act that we honor today.
As a day of reflection I also reflect on a spring season of allowing me to get out and hunt which came perilously close to never happening again after a near fatal experience with Covid late summer last year. It is humbling to know that these heroes sacrificed their tomorrow’s of such days afield, time with family, and leaves me grateful to have had the time as I have had. Something very special after having so many memorable seasons over three decades in the turkey woods.
The turkey woods are by declaration my sanctuary, my church where I ponder my thoughts, engage in deep consolation with my maker. With the good fortune to do so this spring, I find my bearings, and return home grounded and in appreciation for so many things, and for so much that has been done for me and my fellow countrymen.
It is fitting for this old turkey hunter to reflect, to honor, and remember these fallen heroes on Memorial Day as it is not forgotten that all that I have come to love and enjoy came at a price that has been paid in full for our way of living.
-MJ
© 2022 Mike Joyner- Joyner Outdoor Media
Memorial Day, A Day of Respect
I get the two world wars, Korea, and not so much with Vietnam, and the conflicts that followed. Am I grateful that Saddam Hussein is gone from the planet, you bet. Osama Bin Ladin, yep him too. I like many of you find it harder to find my way through the political optics, political slant, cover ups, and bs associated with these conflicts. That is my view of the events, not those that serve us. Memorial day is about those that serve us, and gave their lives for our way of life and for the country we have. Warts and all that it may be. I do not waiver on being an American.
It is unimaginable to me to exit an amphibious vehicle on D-day into a hail of machine gun fire. To willingly move forward in the thick jungles of Vietnam, knowing it may be your last steps. To breech houses in the heat of the desert knowing the next step may be an IUD there. It is hard to comprehend, not hard to honor their bravery, their actions. They do the job we do not. For that they have my eternal respect, and I am grateful for what they do.
In remembrance I ‘ll be thinking of my father, grandfather who have long since passed, and my uncles and cousins who are still with us.
Respect and Honor is the day
God Bless
© 2016 Joyner Outdoor Media
A Grateful Remembrance
We honor those that have fallen in battle, and these honorable men and women soldiers who have passed on.
As a civilian and citizen of our great nation, I am in awe of your service, and grateful beyond words for your sacrifices.
Today I honor my father, and my grandfather, whom I miss greatly. I am also thinking of my uncles whom fought in the jungles of Vietnam and are still with us.
© 2014 Mike Joyner- Joyner Outdoor Media
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