In order to get from Yorkville to Hinsdale for work, I avoid I-55 and I-88. It takes longer. Instead, I take a zig-zag back road route. At one point east of Oswego I wind up on 111th street in an area that looks like I'm going through farms and horse farms.
Heading east this morning, a short distance from Route 30, a cock pheasant ran across the road in front of me. Since I live down the road from Silver Springs State Park, I've got used to seeing the occasional pheasant running around. But this far east?
Till I was eleven I lived near 22nd and Western in Chicago. The four legged wildlife in the neighborhood consisted of feral cats, wild dogs and lots of big, black, greasy looking river rats. The cats and dogs became our outdoor pets, while we hunted for the rats. Groups of boys, armed with sticks and bats, combing the gangways and ducking into basements of 4 and 6 flats to chase out the rats. Forays were made under the sidewalks looking for them, but this was our least favorite. At what point was the rat cornered, or us.
For things that flew we had sparrows and pigeons. I don't really remember anything else. From our back porches homemade sling shots made short order of any sparrow or pigeon that thought it would take a break on one of the electrical wires that ran down the alley.
For fishing, we dropped cinder blocks from the Ashland bridge into the Chicago River onto anything we thought we saw move under the surface of the water. I don't recall actually knowing they were carp.
Now I live a few blocks west of Route 47 and even less from the Fox River in an older section of Yorkville. On the edge of a wooded ravine. Besides the usual raccoons and squirrels, I have deer, up to 8 of them, visit my yard on a regular basis. Twelve wild turkey were hanging around for half the year, feeding every day along with the other critters. A couple of flying squirrels that come out at night and if they feel like it, let us pet them.
And I have more birds than I know how to identify. My way of identifying birds is much like that of a three year old. Point and say . . . ooh, pretty bird.
Over 40 years later and I wake up every morning living the life I wished for and dreamed of so many years ago. And people wonder why I never seem to grow up.