“It’s a long battle when we’re working fresh, but I at least got some bills paid and Christmas money,” Mrs. Farmer said. “I just sit there and hum and sing and talk to my friend Willie. We get through it together.”

The millionth bird of the season rolled off the line in early November. The company managers made a little ceremony of it, taking photos of the workers along the line who helped process it. They gave the bird to a local World War II veteran, who got his picture in The Spectator, the local paper.

Other than a Baptist church sign that reads, “God will welcome even the biggest turkey,” a turkey giveaway organized by local merchants and some white feathers floating near the plant, there is not much indication that this town runs on turkey. There is no bronze turkey statue in the small town square, no Little Miss Turkey parade on the main street. Still, almost everyone works at the plant or knows someone who has. People who are new to town often end up there. Some stay for 40 years or more, and some leave as fast as they can.

Marty Taylor, 41, the local barber, spent a summer bagging turkeys. He was grateful he was not on the “vis line” — where turkeys get cleaned of their viscera. Still, it was enough to send him to barber school.

“It’s a job you get if you can’t get a job anywhere else,” he said.

The concerns that come with large-scale food production — among them pathogen contamination, worker safety, antibiotic use and animal welfare — are not often part of the conversation in Ozark.

People would rather talk about hunting, which is so popular that photos of children in camouflage holding their first deer take up an entire page in The Spectator.