Every November, many of us gather around the table to pass mounds of mashed potatoes and catch up on health, house projects and happy news.

If we’re lucky, the young people will put down their devices. And if we’re extra lucky, Drunk Uncle won’t bring up politics. But with the recent government shutdown — and the party divide stronger than ever — will any family be able to survive a meal? This year, I hope Americans can find kindness at the table, starting with the ones who truly won’t survive: turkeys.

I used to spend Thanksgiving with my Southern cousins, whose house sat beside a golden cornfield. One year, a chorus of gobbles rose from the stalks, and there they were — a flock of wild turkeys. I froze. They were bigger than I’d imagined, regal in their slow, deliberate stride. There I

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