I seem to have my own little flock of turkey vultures. There are five of them and no matter how far they fly, they inevitably return to their favourite spot to rest and watch the neighbourhood. That is the roof ridge of my barn. From there they eye me speculatively though I am still far too fresh to be lunch.
Years ago there were no turkey vultures to be seen so, like other newcomers to the county, they were quite a novelty. Now there are plenty of them wheeling about in lazy circles, scarcely needing to flap a wing.
Atop the barn, they stretch out their up to six foot wingspan to bask in the sun. Large as the birds are, up to two and a half feet tall, they weigh only about three pounds. A great help, I imagine, for that effortless glide.
Though I hardly see anything except some road kill, there must be enough dead creatures in the county to support this population of scavengers. With stomach acid a hundred times stronger than that of humans, they can digest just about anything with no ill effects. So turkey vulture poop is corrosive to whatever it lands upon. They use smell to locate suitable carcasses. They are so good at smelling that oil and gas companies inject a stinky chemical into their pipes and then find leaks where turkey vultures gather.
When freeze up comes and smells go away, the vultures set out for southern climes. The sure sign of spring here is the first sight of those dark silhouettes back doing circles in the sky. Perhaps there is a bonanza of thawing winter kill awaiting them that the foxes and coyotes have missed. They will indulge in a little romance, make a nest on the ground and get on with raising the next generation of county vultures. Or perhaps youngsters to keep spreading northward. Meanwhile, they are welcome on the barn ridge and keep watch so long as they remember I am not quite edible yet.