"He might be a narcissist,” Erin, a staff member at the Olbrich Gardens visitor center, says, looking at the wild turkey standing just outside the building at the entrance to the Great Lawn.

The wind is sharp and bitter, and the garden grounds are empty this late February morning except for Sherman, the garden’s resident male turkey. He strides across the barren grounds, feathers ruffled against the cold. Almost all of the plants are dormant, dark brown and muted green blending into the pale winter landscape and sky.

“He’s very friendly,” Rita, another staff member, tells me.

Sherman, named by the outdoor horticulture team, arrived on the grounds last spring. He’s there almost every day. The visitor center receptionists say he enjoys walking alongside the windows and is much more active in the winter.

“We live in harmony with Sherman,” Tanya Zastrow, director of Olbrich Botanical Gardens, says with a laugh. “We’ve joked about adding him to our staff page.”

Sometimes, Sherman ventures outside Olbrich, but he always returns.

“I mean, we think it’s the same turkey,” Sharon, another receptionist, tells me. “Last year there were like three other turkeys hanging out here with him. They were smaller. I don’t know if they were female or if they were younger.”

This past Halloween, the outdoor horticulture team, who works alongside him daily, came up with a costumed skit that tells the story of Sherman’s “months-long effort” to find a friend in the gardens. His recruitment efforts were not successful.

Sherman moves slowly, familiar with every path. His dark feathers fluff against the wind. He gobbles softly while picking at leftover snow scattered among dormant shrubs and trees.

Inside the visitor center, staff speculate about his habits.

He enjoys spending time pecking at the windows, apparently fascinated by his own reflection. The bottom half of the doors facing the lawn are fitted with frosted glass because of repeated pecking. Erin notes that it is mating season. Sherman has been observed pecking at cars before when he saw his reflection in them. Otherwise, though, he hasn’t caused any damage to the garden grounds.

And he has never become aggressive with staff or visitors, unlike the turkeys in late January that started blocking traffic and chasing postal workers and children in Janesville.

Sherman pauses in the center walkway and spreads his feathers widely. Black and white stripes appear as he arches his wings. For a second, it seems like he may fly away. But he continues to strut, unhurried.

I walk slowly behind him at times, pausing to watch his feathers catch pale light and his head tilt as he surveys the open space. In the sunlight, hints of blue appear in his grey-brown feathers. His tail is a warm brown. I’ve never been this close to a turkey before.

When I leave, Sherman has returned to the main path, feathers ruffled and tail feathers spread as he surveys the empty grounds.

“You really get to see him up close,” Zastrow says. “I’ve heard people reflect how beautiful turkeys are.” 

72: Number of Wisconsin counties with wild turkey populations (all of them)

1881: Last known record of turkeys in Wisconsin before they went extinct

1976: Year wild turkeys were successfully reintroduced using birds from the Missouri Department of Conservation

5,000-8,000: Number of feathers on an adult turkey

18: Number of miles per hour turkeys can clock on foot

Source: Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources turkey management plan, 2015-2025, and U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service