The Magnolia sisters, Star and Saucer, white and pink, have opened their furry fists to reach for the warm April sun, mimicked by cousins Daffodil and Forsythia, who introduce radiant yellows to brighten the days. Never appears a surer sign that spring turkey season is here.

I happened upon a boss gobbler and four deer feeding in a secluded pasture just yesterday, which bodes well for Monday’s opening morning. If a boss gobbler’s alone in a field today, there’s a good chance he’ll be vulnerable tomorrow; at least that’s how I see it, and I know that from experience. So things are looking up. Very positive for now.

It’s after the big boys have gathered their hen harems that they’re difficult to call to the gun, and for good reason. Look at it this way: If you’re sitting poolside at the Sheraton Tara entertaining a tableful of frisky lady suitemates, are you going to wander to the bar looking for more? Not likely, and the same can be said for the average boss gobbler. Why bother?

Anyway, I can tell you I’m looking forward to Monday morning. In fact, I’m feeling confident if the conditions are right. But everything can change quickly if other hunters invade your spot. Then it becomes a crapshoot, one that seldom works out for anyone.

But I’ll be there, before light, hour or two of sleep, buddy by my side, walking to a massive red pine just inside the woods line that’s been good to us in the past.

After I’ve unpacked three or four box calls, an equal mix of slates, glass and strikers, and moistened up my Quaker Boy Pro-Triple mouth call, we’ll be ready for action. Maybe I’ll owl-hoot, maybe not, depends on my mood, but you can be sure it won’t be long before I emit my first series of soft clucks and yelps, trying to simulate early morning tree talk. Then, once the first gobble bellows from a tree, the game is on. Maybe I’ll be aggressive, perhaps play hard to get. Could be easy, maybe difficult, but it will be fun, that’s for sure, and entertaining.

If we get one, fine; two, better. If unsuccessful, we’ll be back the next day, weather permitting, and the day after that, until we score. We may even change spots along the way, playing it by ear.

On the way home each day, we’ll scout the fields, pick some fiddleheads and shoot the breeze. Free and easy, sleep-deprived and exhilarated, my twisted concept of springtime bliss.

You know what they say: to each his own.