Winter has beset us rather decisively this year, which, having prepared for it, makes me quite content. With time to hibernate outside of my regular work routine, I can reflect on the stories and mementos in my messy abode. 

One such simple trophy is my shoebox of turkey feet. Whenever I harvest a turkey, typically in spring as opposed to fall, I keep the beard and the feet as trophies. Many hunters save these, and for a while I was concerned about the space they take up. My dad saves them and ran into the same problem after filling a Rubbermaid tote or so. Plus after a while, if they aren’t perfectly clean, they can get moldy and dusty or catch mildew. 

The solution? Save the teeth.

You may be asking yourself, what teeth? I thought we were talking about feet. You would be correct. Commonly in my circles at least, the spurs located on the turkey’s feet are referred to as turkey teeth, since they somewhat resemble a shark’s tooth with their triangular points. 

They are regarded as trophies because they reflect the age and maturity of the birds harvested. Long spurs belong to older birds, which are regarded as more auspicious than a first-year jake with little nubs for spurs.

For those who like their crafts, it’s a simple task to cut across the turkey bone on either side of the spur, leaving you with a one-inch piece as opposed to a six- or eight-inch foot. Additionally, since turkeys are hollow-boned—as most if not all birds are—this creates a hole through which to run a string so the spurs can be collected as a necklace or added to a duck lanyard or other hunting accessory. 

My spurs, once cleaned and put together, ended up filling a small lanyard rather than a shoebox and can be hung from the antlers on one of my old bucks. 

Having helped my father with this task as well, I will simply say his string is one you can play jump rope with—or double dutch, for that matter. 

But despite the collections or the crafts, there is a greater reason for trophy keeping: Legacy.

Men have been defined in history by their achievements. The tallest buildings, the largest accumulations of wealth, the most expansive cities, all spawned by the work of individuals. Perhaps not so much on this grand scale is the pursuit of a legacy of hunting, but it is a story of effort and reward for generations of family hunters. 

While my small lanyard can hardly be called a great achievement, it is the building block of a life that I live with purpose. My father’s is perhaps closer to a story of goals and gain, while mine will complement a great many other smaller milestones that my sons will look at in the future to see what I was passionate about, what I sought to achieve, and what fed and fueled them growing up. 

True, it’s not as grand as building a skyscraper, but it is equally important to set these examples to inspire the next generation of young men. 

The way out here turkey teeth are just one of the humble wall hangers that spark curiosity in the wondering eyes of the young. A hunt is lived only once, but the stories and adventures shared and retold shape the minds and fortitude of every generation to witness them. Come spring, their appetites will be that much more ready for turkey chili or even the hunt itself.