Tuesday's torrential downpours gave way to a crystal-clear, beautiful -- albeit chilly -- morning today.

I was in the woods before sunrise, putting out my lone turkey decoy and settling into a dense little thicket on the edge of a clearing. Heard a few gobbles off in the distance, answering my pitiful calling, and even heard another hunter fire off a shot off in the distance.

I hadn't had the opportunity to get out for the start of my wild turkey season on Monday, so today was the beginning. And the beginning reminded me of my last beginning...

Last spring was the first time I hunted turkeys, period, though the spring turkey hunt is nothing like the fall one. Most significantly, toms aren't going to respond to calling and the birds travel in small groups separated, for the most part, by gender as they ready for the coming winter.

I was in a blind off a field on a friend's farm property, and I watched a group of hens move up over the hill hundreds of yards in front of me. They moved around some apple trees, along the edge of the woods toward the field where I was and abruptly turned 90 degrees into the woods. They never came remotely close for me to think I had a chance -- even when I called, they'd look up, disinterested, and resume their business. Soon they were out of sight, and though I knew they couldn't really have gone anywhere, I didn't have the slightest clue where they actually were.

I stayed for hours, finally giving in. I walked the edge of the woods, toward the house, and turned the corner.

What I saw was astounding -- literally dozens of turkeys meandering around the driveway and eating under the bird feeders in the backyard.

They weren't more than 10 yards away from me, and barely moved when I approached.

My friend's mother-in-law came out.

"Isn't it awful?" she said. "They're always here."

Always there, and somehow they seemed to understand that they were too close to the house to be in harm's way.

I laughed.

And then this morning, sitting in that thicket and cursing myself for forgetting my seat cushion, I laughed out loud thinking about that morning.

Crazy game this hunting thing...