There has been a beautiful male pheasant in our yard the last two days.  They used to be common, my father hunted them, as did most of the men in our neighborhood.  I don't remember eating them, Grandma Burky probably did the honor of cooking the bird.  But I do remember chasing them for the entertainment of my younger sisters and brother.  Daddy would drive to Matteawan State Hospital for the criminally insane.  It was a beautiful set of brick buildings, the grounds were gorgeous and well kept.  There were vegetable gardens that I imagine the inmates took care of.  Anyway, at that time there was a road open to the public that drove right up to it.  Because of its seclusion, there were pheasants all over the grounds.  When Daddy spotted one, he would tell me to get out of the car and chase it.  The bird would then fly up for the amusement of the kids in the car.  I remember being scared as I looked up at the barred windows, with faces looking down at me.  Today Route 84 runs close enough for you to see the prison, but barbed wires would keep anyone pheasant chaser out.

Growing up near such an institute was not frightening.  Only when the sirens blew, indicating an escape, did people panic.  My mother told us, "when they escape, they run two places.  Either to the river to follow the train tracks to be safe in the city, or (worse for us) run for the mountains where they can hide."  Bucky knew somebody who had their clothes stolen off the line.  The escapees had to quickly change from their prison clothes to  regular clothes so they wouldnt be so noticeable.  So the sound of the siren would send Bucky to the clothes line to bring in the not yet dried laundry.

In those days of no cell phones, ipads, etc, etc, sirens were the way we were notified of important events, like school closures which was a good siren and one we didn't hear very often.  A siren would blow more frequently for fires, a number of blasts - like 3 blasts, 2 blasts then 1.  We would run to the refrigerator where a listing was taped.  "321 - that's Washington Avenue" and we would run to the picture window to watch for the trucks and firemen.  Simple days and simple memories of 50 years or more ago.