Upstairs at 28 Ludwig Rd. ca. 1973
Photo by June Sundgren Mita
We moved from a rental in Crystal Lake up to a hill called Ludwig Rd. off of Route 140 on the way to Ellington Center. My parents built an oversize ranch on a very hilly piece of land that had a lot of swampland and water. We were able to find a decent dry spot to put the house, but it always flooded when it rained. We lived in the basement for about 3 years before the upper story was built.
We were one of the first people to move in on Ludwig Rd. The upper part of the road, called Newell Hill Rd., had several families, but we were pretty much alone where we built for nearly 5 years. We had wild turkeys roaming the area, and every night we would hear whippoorwills. There were also numerous snapping turtles in the area.
The Turtle Of The Swamp - ca. 1959
I was told a story by my mom from when we were building the house on Ludwig Rd. in 1959. I was a precocious toddler. When I could actually walk there was no controlling me. I would just go to anything that attracted me.
It was probably around April or May. Everything was being cleared. Our house was located near a brook. My mom told me that there were really big snapping turtles that lived where we were building. She said that I had no fear as a 20 month old. I was probably playing with sand and toy buckets when I saw one of those big snapping turtles. I went towards where it was sunning, and I crawled on top of the big shell which was the size of a saddle. Mom happened to look up and saw me on top of this snapping turtle and she thought it would snap off my leg. Well, I might have bounced up and down the shell a couple times before she came over with a large stick to put into the snappers mouth. Nothing happened to me.
Of Wave Pools and Oceans
ca. 1960 - I always took risks. She told me another story about Crystal Lake. I was perhaps 2 or 3, and she took Craig and I to the lake. As she tried spreading the blanket on the beach, I took off like a dart and ran right in the water. In the few seconds it took my mom to adjust the blanket, I was up to my neck in the water, and I kept on going. She saw me just as I went under, and she was able to dash to pull me out sputtering and crying as she pulled me by my arm.
ca. 1991 - I did the same for my daughter, Kathleen when she was around 4. We were up to Mt. Tom. They had a wave pool and an alpine slide. Michael, my husband and her dad, was near the front of the pool, not really watching Kathleen. I was further back, and as I saw the waves rolling towards the two of them, my heart went into my throat. I saw her drowning in my mind while her father played in the waves. Before she went under, and she did, I ran right up behind her and grabbed her just as she was going under. She did not cry. She thought it was all part of the fun because as I grabbed her, I picked her up and spun her around in parental fun and joy. Kathleen never knew how close she came to a watery grave, or at least a bad water experience.
ca. 1975 - Melanie, my sister, told me once that she became scared of the ocean one day. She was at Misquamicuit Beach in Rhode Island with mom. She must have been 9 or 10. The beaches of Rhode Island are known for their body surfing. We all looked forward to trips to Misquamicuit because of it.
The waves were very rough that day and there was a terrific undertow. Melanie was surfing in on a wave, and when she tried to get up, another wave and then another hit. She could not get out of the surging water. She was kept under by the constant waves. Her breath began to lose out. She was struggling but couldn't get out. I am not certain how she finally got out. Perhaps someone nearby saw it and finally pulled her out, or maybe our mom did or I did. She never body surfed again after that.
Criminal At 3 Years Old - ca. 1961
My first memory was when I killed a kitten. We had a gray cat named Smoky. She was never fixed and always had kittens. She had them in my parents closet in the basement. We lived in the basement. Their room always smelled like fuel oil because we had a leak in the foundation and it always let in the smell of the oil tank that was buried outside against that cement wall.
This closet was an archaic walk-in . It had no doors. Moms clothes were on the left side, and dads were on the right. It walked through to the bathroom but the door to the bathroom couldn't be opened, though it was originally meant to have a door that did open. My dad just never got around to it.
The closet had an open pipe that lead into the ground. It was a big pipe. I was perhaps 3 1/2 and I was so thrilled to have new kittens that I wanted to play with them. The kittens were only a few weeks old, if that. So I grabbed one of the kittens and began tossing it up and down like a ball. I was right over the open pipe. I missed catching the kitten, and it went right into the pipe, mewing all the way as it fell into where ever the pipe went. Smoky never had another litter of kittens at our house after that. She took her chances out in the woods instead, figuring fighting bobcats and wild dogs was better than taking a chance with a human child named June, who always took risks.
==================================================================
My knees had warts on them. I remember crawling across the carpet and it was so rough that it rubbed my warts, causing them to bleed. My brother always called me frog knees. He told me that I had warts because I always picked up toads and when they peed on me I would wipe it on my knee to get it off my hands. I don't know when they finally disappeared.
I hated those warts because when we went to elementary school, girls had to wear dresses, white anklets and black patent leather shoes. I was not a girly girl so to have to wear dresses was a real hardship, especially since the boys always would stay at the bottom of the slide and when a girl slid down, the boys would put their faces even with the metal of the slide to look up their skirts. I wanted to run and climb trees with the boys. Instead, girls had to jump rope, swing on swings or slide on slides.
==================================================================
End Of Innocence In America - ca. 1963
I remember when Craig broke his left arm. I must have been 6 or 7. Back then there was no fear of being picked up or attacked by strangers. We walked alone or in groups all up and down Ludwig and Newell Hill Rd. About a mile up the road, the Holmes's had a field that we were supposed to stay out of. We thought it was because they were cranks, but actually there were copperheads in the field.
The Holmes's would harvest the field and leave huge, tall haystacks. All of us kids, the Marushauns, Craig and me, the Bordello's and the Darling's decided to take a risk and climb the haystack. I stayed on the ground because I wasn't a very good climber and because none of the boys would help any of the girls up.
Craig must have stepped in a hollow place on the haystack because he was very near the edge, and suddenly he fell off. He landed on a rock I think. His arm was crooked and he was screaming in pain. I ran all the way home to get our mother. She came up in the car, and fetched him to Dr. Dambeck. He set his arm, but for some reason he didn't do it right so the bone set wrong. Craig has always had a crooked left arm since. Dr. Dambeck was not a real good doctor I guess.
The Lost Pond ca. 1962
Before girls my age started moving to my street, I was stuck playing with the boys. My brother, Craig ran with Jimmy and John John Marushaun. I would tag along so I wouldn;t be alone, but the boys never wanted me following them. They did everything they could to lose me.
Once, they enticed me to willingly go with them. It was in the winter and they told me they found the lost pond. During the summer, we would try to find the lost pond but never could. It was colored a very pale green and was very pretty. My mother had found it with Craig and me the previous spring and it was filled with frogs eggs dangling on sticks and in piles of leaves. Craig and I could not find it on our own so we called it the lost pond.
I followed the three boys into the woods, hoping I could see the pond again. We finally came across it, with its pretty green ice surrounded by white snow. I decided to pretend skate on it.
I was so engrossed in slipping across the ice that I didn't keep track of the boys. When I finally turned to talk to them, they were all gone. I was completely alone in the middle of the green ice. I began screaming, but I only heard echoes. Not only was the pond lost but so was I.
I threatened Craig, saying I would tell if he didn't come back. I figured they were hiding somewhere. Finally I realized I had to find my way home. Just as I left the edge of the pond, Craig came back without Jimmy or John John. He felt really bad about the joke he had been part of, but it didn't stop him from doing other things anyway.
Hobo Sheds ca. 1964
For some reason, before 1970, the landscape was dotted with abandoned sheds. Perhaps they had been buildings that farmers had built for tractors or grain, but many folks I talk to now remember those sheds somewhere in a wooded area in their neighborhoods.
I always called them hobo sheds because if you dared go inside one, and what curious 7 or 8 year old wouldn't, the floor was always covered with all sorts of colorful broken glass. Sometimes there would be a label that indicated most of the bottles contained alcohol before they were broken.
We would have an occasional unwashed vagabond walk up the street in baggy and dusty clothes. We assumed that if we saw one of the hobos we would stay out of the abandoned sheds and barns.
One time my brother and the Marushaun boys coaxed me in to one of the sheds. He told me there was a set of kittens inside. I walked in, carefully watching my feet in the slant of light from the door to avoid the biggest pieces of glass. Then the boys slammed the door, leaving me in a completely dark place because there were no windows. They held it shut while I tried to push it open. I was petrified of the dark, and I screamed, as usual, and begged them to let me out. They just laughed.
Finally I heard nothing, so I tried the door. It opened and they were gone. I raced home, told my mom, and Craig had to stay in his room for the rest of the day.
The Gentle Baron ca, 1965
My dad with dogs, ca. 1955
Mr. Small lived at the end of a dirt road which is now called Wheelock Rd., where Ludwig and Newell Hill joined. He was terribly mean. He trained dogs which is why he lived in such a secluded area. He never wanted people to see how he trained dogs. The dogs he mainly trained were Doberman Pinschers.
One dog he tried to train was named Baron. Mr. Small did everything he could, including starving Baron and scrunching him in to too small a cage in order to make that dog mean. Well, Baron was not biting. He was the kindest, gentlest Doberman that was ever born.
Baron was an escape artist. He somehow would manage to get out of his cage, and he would end up at our house. Dad trained dogs, too, but he never wanted to make the dogs mean. He loved dogs and dogs loved him. Baron stayed with us many nights until he was hauled back to his cage by Mr. Small.
Mr. Small never broke Baron's gentleness. Baron finally died when we was trying to run away from Mr. Small. Baron got hit by a car. I saw him get hit. I cried so hard. Dad said it was the only way Baron could be. He hated his master, but his master wanted him to be a mean guard dog. He never could be mean, so it was a release from his terrible life.
================================================================
Mr. Small moved, and the DeGray's moved in. They had lots of kids. I can only remember 4 but I think by the time the last one was born they had six. Mr. DeGray fixed motorcycles. Every one of the boys had a dirt motorcycle by the time they were 11. They used to ride the motorcylces in a field next to the house. I could hear the motorcycles all the way to my house.
The boys took it upon themselves to cut trails into the miles of woods behind the house. Nobody claimed the woods. There were some trails already because the area at one time had been logged and the old roads were still there. So when the boys expanded the trails, we could all walk on them or ride our bicycles. Funny they should have been so foresightful. Now in most towns, land is set aside for open space recreation in almost every new development.
We could hear the motors in the woods behind our chicken coops, and before the leaves were on the trees we could sometimes see them. My dad never complained. He felt it was all good fun and was not bothered by the DeGray's noisy pursuits.
================================================================
Photo by June Sundgren Mita
We moved from a rental in Crystal Lake up to a hill called Ludwig Rd. off of Route 140 on the way to Ellington Center. My parents built an oversize ranch on a very hilly piece of land that had a lot of swampland and water. We were able to find a decent dry spot to put the house, but it always flooded when it rained. We lived in the basement for about 3 years before the upper story was built.
We were one of the first people to move in on Ludwig Rd. The upper part of the road, called Newell Hill Rd., had several families, but we were pretty much alone where we built for nearly 5 years. We had wild turkeys roaming the area, and every night we would hear whippoorwills. There were also numerous snapping turtles in the area.
The Turtle Of The Swamp - ca. 1959
I was told a story by my mom from when we were building the house on Ludwig Rd. in 1959. I was a precocious toddler. When I could actually walk there was no controlling me. I would just go to anything that attracted me.
It was probably around April or May. Everything was being cleared. Our house was located near a brook. My mom told me that there were really big snapping turtles that lived where we were building. She said that I had no fear as a 20 month old. I was probably playing with sand and toy buckets when I saw one of those big snapping turtles. I went towards where it was sunning, and I crawled on top of the big shell which was the size of a saddle. Mom happened to look up and saw me on top of this snapping turtle and she thought it would snap off my leg. Well, I might have bounced up and down the shell a couple times before she came over with a large stick to put into the snappers mouth. Nothing happened to me.
Of Wave Pools and Oceans
ca. 1960 - I always took risks. She told me another story about Crystal Lake. I was perhaps 2 or 3, and she took Craig and I to the lake. As she tried spreading the blanket on the beach, I took off like a dart and ran right in the water. In the few seconds it took my mom to adjust the blanket, I was up to my neck in the water, and I kept on going. She saw me just as I went under, and she was able to dash to pull me out sputtering and crying as she pulled me by my arm.
ca. 1991 - I did the same for my daughter, Kathleen when she was around 4. We were up to Mt. Tom. They had a wave pool and an alpine slide. Michael, my husband and her dad, was near the front of the pool, not really watching Kathleen. I was further back, and as I saw the waves rolling towards the two of them, my heart went into my throat. I saw her drowning in my mind while her father played in the waves. Before she went under, and she did, I ran right up behind her and grabbed her just as she was going under. She did not cry. She thought it was all part of the fun because as I grabbed her, I picked her up and spun her around in parental fun and joy. Kathleen never knew how close she came to a watery grave, or at least a bad water experience.
ca. 1975 - Melanie, my sister, told me once that she became scared of the ocean one day. She was at Misquamicuit Beach in Rhode Island with mom. She must have been 9 or 10. The beaches of Rhode Island are known for their body surfing. We all looked forward to trips to Misquamicuit because of it.
The waves were very rough that day and there was a terrific undertow. Melanie was surfing in on a wave, and when she tried to get up, another wave and then another hit. She could not get out of the surging water. She was kept under by the constant waves. Her breath began to lose out. She was struggling but couldn't get out. I am not certain how she finally got out. Perhaps someone nearby saw it and finally pulled her out, or maybe our mom did or I did. She never body surfed again after that.
Criminal At 3 Years Old - ca. 1961
My first memory was when I killed a kitten. We had a gray cat named Smoky. She was never fixed and always had kittens. She had them in my parents closet in the basement. We lived in the basement. Their room always smelled like fuel oil because we had a leak in the foundation and it always let in the smell of the oil tank that was buried outside against that cement wall.
This closet was an archaic walk-in . It had no doors. Moms clothes were on the left side, and dads were on the right. It walked through to the bathroom but the door to the bathroom couldn't be opened, though it was originally meant to have a door that did open. My dad just never got around to it.
The closet had an open pipe that lead into the ground. It was a big pipe. I was perhaps 3 1/2 and I was so thrilled to have new kittens that I wanted to play with them. The kittens were only a few weeks old, if that. So I grabbed one of the kittens and began tossing it up and down like a ball. I was right over the open pipe. I missed catching the kitten, and it went right into the pipe, mewing all the way as it fell into where ever the pipe went. Smoky never had another litter of kittens at our house after that. She took her chances out in the woods instead, figuring fighting bobcats and wild dogs was better than taking a chance with a human child named June, who always took risks.
==================================================================
My knees had warts on them. I remember crawling across the carpet and it was so rough that it rubbed my warts, causing them to bleed. My brother always called me frog knees. He told me that I had warts because I always picked up toads and when they peed on me I would wipe it on my knee to get it off my hands. I don't know when they finally disappeared.
I hated those warts because when we went to elementary school, girls had to wear dresses, white anklets and black patent leather shoes. I was not a girly girl so to have to wear dresses was a real hardship, especially since the boys always would stay at the bottom of the slide and when a girl slid down, the boys would put their faces even with the metal of the slide to look up their skirts. I wanted to run and climb trees with the boys. Instead, girls had to jump rope, swing on swings or slide on slides.
==================================================================
End Of Innocence In America - ca. 1963
I began school in 1963. I remember my first day. We got picked up on a big yellow bus. I was very excited. Up the street a new girl had moved in. Her name was Holly. She was terribly scared and cried all the way in while all the big girls sat in the back of the bus and sang "Hello Muddah, hello faddah." When we got to school, I was very happy and comfortable because I had met my first grade teacher, Mrs. Backofener, over the summer. So I took Holly by the hand, rubbed her back and told her it would be all right because Mrs. Backofener was such a nice teacher. I got Holly to stop crying and we sat next to each other for a few days.
1963 was a memorable year for a child who had their first school experience. Historically, we were under constant "red" fear. I never knew about the communist problem. I lived up in the hills way far from town centers. The most I would hear were sounds of crickets, whippoorwills at night, or an occasional plane flying over the house. I was unprepared for civil drills. We were taught within the first week what to do if we heard the alarm go off, letting us know we were under threat of attack. As soon as the air raid alarms sounded, we immediately had to climb under our desks and the teacher would quickly rush to shut off the classroom lights. I had never heard an air raid up in my safe, secure hillside home.
I probably cried the first few times the air raid alarm sounded, not knowing if it were real or just a drill. We were taught fear very early in our public education days. After awhile, it became nothing to have to climb under our desks and wait for the all clear signal from the principal. The lights went back on and we were back to reading, penmanship or math.
One incident, however, does stand out in my mind. As an American, we all know what happened on November 22, 1963.
The day was like any other to start our Friday. We were taking weekly tests but in the afternoon we were going to get a special treat. Our class was going to have a T.V. in it to watch our president, John F. Kennedy, drive in his motorcade into Dallas. As we watched, something happened to him. We were not fully understanding what had happened, but the teacher flicked off the t.v. and told us to all put our heads down on our desks and not to move. She left the room and stood outside the closed door. I could hear lots of voices and some were crying. When the buses came, we still did not realize what had happened.
My mom and dad were glued to the news when I got home. Even at six, I knew what dead meant. It was possibly the most sad and solemn weekend in American history, topped only by the attacks of the World Trade Centers on Sept. 11, 2001, and the bombing of Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941.
Accidents and Broken Bones - ca. 1962-1966
In second grade I was playing kick ball on the tarmack of our schoolyard during physical eduation, in my slippery patent leathers and a beautiful black velvet dress. As I ran into home I slipped and fell. My teacher, Mrs. Young, did not believe I was hurt. I could not step on my left ankle. She told me to get back up and play, but I screamed murderously as I tried to walk. She looked at the ankle then, and it looked funny to her. She sent for the principal, Mr. Tobin, whom I was in love with. Gallantly, he picked me up and took me to the nurse.
My mother was called and she somehow had the car that day which was unusual. She rarely had the car, a huge 1956 Chevy Bel Aire. She took me to the hospital. My ankle was fractured. I had a cast on it for it seemed weeks, but even though I was on crutches, Mrs. Young still made me stand in the corner because I always took risks and was found frequently whispering to my neighbors while we were supposed to be reading or doing our numbers.
It wasn't the first time I had been in the hospital. In 1962 I woke up in the bathroom. My mother was running water. We had a pink counter in there. I didn't know why she had me in the bathroom. I looked at the counter and saw bright red spots all over it. They looked like jelly.
She put a washcloth under my chin and I suddenly felt a stinging in my chin. I realized then that the bright red spots were blood and they were coming from my chin. I screamed and cried. I had fallen out of bed, which was an old iron frame painted white. When my mom came in to check she saw a huge gash in my chin. I needed stitches so I went to Dr. Dambeck the next day. I needed about 12 stitches. I still have the scar, and it always has hairs growing out of it.
This was after I had gone through an operation for a lazy eye. I was told once surgery was done, I would no longer have a lazy, crazy left eye. It was done in Rockville Hospital. I remember my Aunt Ellie and Uncle Dick coming to see me. I had my eye all bandaged, so I could only see them with one eye. They brought me a turquoise stuffed seal. Craig, my brother, had gotten a stuffed monkey from them so he wouldn't feel left out. He still has the monkey. It was a light tan and had very skinny arms and legs, kind of like Curious George.
When the wrappings came off, my eye was still a little bloodshot, but for the first time in my life I could see with both eyes at the same time. It happened in the winter of 1962 and around that time of year we would all go to my Uncle Ralph's in Central Valley, N.Y. The men and boys would go to Bear Mountain to hunt deer. My eye was freshly unwrapped and we were all sitting around my Uncle Ralph's huge farmhouse dining room table. We were eating venison and mashed potatoes. My brother was sitting beside me. Somehow, he lost control of his fork and it landed in my left eye; the one that had just been operated on. It blinded me for almost a week. When I could see again, I had my lazy, crazy eye back. I never got it fixed after that. I remember when Craig broke his left arm. I must have been 6 or 7. Back then there was no fear of being picked up or attacked by strangers. We walked alone or in groups all up and down Ludwig and Newell Hill Rd. About a mile up the road, the Holmes's had a field that we were supposed to stay out of. We thought it was because they were cranks, but actually there were copperheads in the field.
The Holmes's would harvest the field and leave huge, tall haystacks. All of us kids, the Marushauns, Craig and me, the Bordello's and the Darling's decided to take a risk and climb the haystack. I stayed on the ground because I wasn't a very good climber and because none of the boys would help any of the girls up.
Craig must have stepped in a hollow place on the haystack because he was very near the edge, and suddenly he fell off. He landed on a rock I think. His arm was crooked and he was screaming in pain. I ran all the way home to get our mother. She came up in the car, and fetched him to Dr. Dambeck. He set his arm, but for some reason he didn't do it right so the bone set wrong. Craig has always had a crooked left arm since. Dr. Dambeck was not a real good doctor I guess.
The Lost Pond ca. 1962
Before girls my age started moving to my street, I was stuck playing with the boys. My brother, Craig ran with Jimmy and John John Marushaun. I would tag along so I wouldn;t be alone, but the boys never wanted me following them. They did everything they could to lose me.
Once, they enticed me to willingly go with them. It was in the winter and they told me they found the lost pond. During the summer, we would try to find the lost pond but never could. It was colored a very pale green and was very pretty. My mother had found it with Craig and me the previous spring and it was filled with frogs eggs dangling on sticks and in piles of leaves. Craig and I could not find it on our own so we called it the lost pond.
I followed the three boys into the woods, hoping I could see the pond again. We finally came across it, with its pretty green ice surrounded by white snow. I decided to pretend skate on it.
I was so engrossed in slipping across the ice that I didn't keep track of the boys. When I finally turned to talk to them, they were all gone. I was completely alone in the middle of the green ice. I began screaming, but I only heard echoes. Not only was the pond lost but so was I.
I threatened Craig, saying I would tell if he didn't come back. I figured they were hiding somewhere. Finally I realized I had to find my way home. Just as I left the edge of the pond, Craig came back without Jimmy or John John. He felt really bad about the joke he had been part of, but it didn't stop him from doing other things anyway.
Hobo Sheds ca. 1964
For some reason, before 1970, the landscape was dotted with abandoned sheds. Perhaps they had been buildings that farmers had built for tractors or grain, but many folks I talk to now remember those sheds somewhere in a wooded area in their neighborhoods.
I always called them hobo sheds because if you dared go inside one, and what curious 7 or 8 year old wouldn't, the floor was always covered with all sorts of colorful broken glass. Sometimes there would be a label that indicated most of the bottles contained alcohol before they were broken.
We would have an occasional unwashed vagabond walk up the street in baggy and dusty clothes. We assumed that if we saw one of the hobos we would stay out of the abandoned sheds and barns.
One time my brother and the Marushaun boys coaxed me in to one of the sheds. He told me there was a set of kittens inside. I walked in, carefully watching my feet in the slant of light from the door to avoid the biggest pieces of glass. Then the boys slammed the door, leaving me in a completely dark place because there were no windows. They held it shut while I tried to push it open. I was petrified of the dark, and I screamed, as usual, and begged them to let me out. They just laughed.
Finally I heard nothing, so I tried the door. It opened and they were gone. I raced home, told my mom, and Craig had to stay in his room for the rest of the day.
The Gentle Baron ca, 1965
My dad with dogs, ca. 1955
Mr. Small lived at the end of a dirt road which is now called Wheelock Rd., where Ludwig and Newell Hill joined. He was terribly mean. He trained dogs which is why he lived in such a secluded area. He never wanted people to see how he trained dogs. The dogs he mainly trained were Doberman Pinschers. One dog he tried to train was named Baron. Mr. Small did everything he could, including starving Baron and scrunching him in to too small a cage in order to make that dog mean. Well, Baron was not biting. He was the kindest, gentlest Doberman that was ever born.
Baron was an escape artist. He somehow would manage to get out of his cage, and he would end up at our house. Dad trained dogs, too, but he never wanted to make the dogs mean. He loved dogs and dogs loved him. Baron stayed with us many nights until he was hauled back to his cage by Mr. Small.
Mr. Small never broke Baron's gentleness. Baron finally died when we was trying to run away from Mr. Small. Baron got hit by a car. I saw him get hit. I cried so hard. Dad said it was the only way Baron could be. He hated his master, but his master wanted him to be a mean guard dog. He never could be mean, so it was a release from his terrible life.
================================================================
Mr. Small moved, and the DeGray's moved in. They had lots of kids. I can only remember 4 but I think by the time the last one was born they had six. Mr. DeGray fixed motorcycles. Every one of the boys had a dirt motorcycle by the time they were 11. They used to ride the motorcylces in a field next to the house. I could hear the motorcycles all the way to my house.
The boys took it upon themselves to cut trails into the miles of woods behind the house. Nobody claimed the woods. There were some trails already because the area at one time had been logged and the old roads were still there. So when the boys expanded the trails, we could all walk on them or ride our bicycles. Funny they should have been so foresightful. Now in most towns, land is set aside for open space recreation in almost every new development.
We could hear the motors in the woods behind our chicken coops, and before the leaves were on the trees we could sometimes see them. My dad never complained. He felt it was all good fun and was not bothered by the DeGray's noisy pursuits.
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