Family Farm

I keep reading articles about how the family farm is a thing of the past and people don’t care about the land anymore. I figure these articles must have been written by people who live in cities, because if you get out into the countryside, at least in the Midwest, you find that this simply isn’t true. In fact, in Illinois, 96 percent of all farms are family owned. That’s roughly 70,000 farms, many of them in the same family for generations. Some of the farms are larger these days, simply because far fewer people are interested in doing the hard work of farming. But being large doesn’t mean you can’t still be all-in-the-family. To “meet” some of these farm families, you can visit “We are the 96” on this site: https://watchusgrow.org/we-are-the-96/

If you go through the videos on my blog (see link under categories), you’ll find evidence of numerous family farms from several states—because Illinois is not alone in being very family-farm-centric. At least in the Midwest, this is the norm.

I recently wrote an article for Newcity Magazine about how to reconnect with the world of farming if you happen to live in Cook County Illinois. There are links to the places mentioned in the article, should you live in the area and want to follow up. But if you don’t live in the area, perhaps it will encourage you to search and find out what is near you. Because the myth of the vanishing family farm is just that—a myth—though it could happen if we keep ignoring them. Here’s the story: https://resto.newcity.com/2023/10/04/not-just-corn-and-soybeans-the-big-food-disconnect-and-how-to-fix-it/

So do what you can to find out who is farming where you live. See if there are options for learning more. Because the problem with having everyone believing the myth of the vanishing family farm is that it makes it all that much harder to hang on to those family farms.

Return to Bishop Hill

Several years ago, on the return from a speaking trip to Iowa, I routed myself toward a town I’d read about—the Swedish settlement of Bishop Hill. This was a great idea, as Bishop Hill, a State Historic Site, is glorious. It’s also small, so easily explored—but really beautiful. Lots of historic buildings, tree-filled park, gardens, museums, shops.

That first trip, amid my exploring, I stopped for lunch at P L Johnson’s. This delightful little shop offers classic Swedish dishes, and it became my go-to place on return trips.

Because I have returned. In fact, if you’ve read my book Destination Heartland, you’ll know that Bishop Hill—and P L Johnson’s—are included in the book. Just too much history to not have it in a book on the region’s history! (And if you haven’t read my book, I figure your two options are getting my book or visiting Bishop Hill. Maybe both. Because there is a lot of very interesting history here.)

Two days ago, I was back in Bishop Hill, this time giving a presentation. Happily, agricultural history is a popular topic out here, so I’ve had the pleasure of a couple of visits through the Illinois Humanities “Road Scholars” program, in addition to my earlier visits, when I first explored the town. Of course, I had to go to P L Johnson’s. While I don’t have Swedish meatballs every time I visit I go, I did this weekend. The side salad had the option of lingonberry vinaigrette, which was my choice, and having had some wonderful soup there over the years, I couldn’t resist getting a cup of Swedish cheese soup. Yum.

But if you have an opportunity to be anywhere near Bishop Hill, I highly recommend a visit. There are B&Bs, if you want to stay a little longer. It’s a peaceful, lovely place, so a great option for a weekend away, and the wealth of history makes it a remarkable stop.

North Woods —Looking back

I had reason today to think of a poem I wrote several years ago, and that led me to a folder of poems that reflect thoughts over the years. This one is about my love for the North Woods, that glorious wooded region in the northern part of the Midwest. In my case, it was the forests around Eagle River, Wisconsin. I know the time I spent there when younger had a profound effect on who I became as I got older. Without sharing all I learned during those wonderful summers, I’ll simply share this “love poem.”

North Woods

I think back to the summers of my youth,
When I would spend my nights beneath the trees.
The smell of earth and pine and last year’s leaves
Would fill my soul with peace.  The evening breeze

Would rise and run its fingers through my hair,
The cool, sweet, forest-scented air would wrap
Around me; now I wish it had not let
Me go. I listened to the water lap

The shore, the nighttime creatures prowl, the leaves
And branches overhead murmur and sigh
And dance across the face of heaven. All
These sounds, combined, became my lullaby.

At last, I’d sleep, when I could wake no more,
And, cradled by the forest, I would dream
Until first light. The lake, like glass at dawn,
And silver like the sunless sky, no seam

Or ripple on its perfect mirror, doubled
The forest. At the sun’s touch, mist would rise
And drift across water and wood alike,
All white, the semblance of a dream. The cries

Of morning’s birds would break into my thoughts,
And I would rise and slip into the lake,
Letting the cold, clean water clear my mind;
Exulting, racing, free, fully awake,

And fully part of that wild beauty that
Surrounded me. I’d watch the sunlight play
Across the water to the forest’s edge
Where green and shadow merged with dappled day.

It was so long ago. But not too long.
I have not changed so much. I can and will
Go back someday.  I must. I pray. I knew
Just what I wanted then. I want it still.

Corn Boy

I had a speaking engagement today—gave my presentation “How Corn Changed Itself and Then Changed Everything Else.” Lovely venue (Isle a la Cache Museum, posted about elsewhere in this blog), with a great audience. Enjoyed everything about it, but the thing that sent me to my computer was the audience member who said I needed to see “Corn Boy.” He even pulled it up on his phone while I was putting away my notes from the presentation, so I would be sure to see it. It’s easy to see why he thought I should see it—and fascinating to see that 12 million people agree with him. Charming and fun—and it makes me want to go out and get some sweet corn.

Mount Carroll, IL

The wonderful advantage to having speaking engagements all over Illinois is I get to see a lot of remarkably wonderful old towns (as well as, of course, the beautiful countryside). The downside is that I rarely get enough time to truly explore some of these delightful places. But I do see enough to be glad I visited—and learn enough to know that I need to eventually get back.

One example is a recent trip to Mount Carroll. This delightful, historic town, founded in the early 1800s, is a beautiful example of a small but prosperous, Midwestern town of the era, with a handsome business district, brick streets, elegant old homes, a nice history museum, and a downtown square with government buildings, monuments, and a Carnegie Library. I had the opportunity to walk around the square, gave my presentation in one of the old downtown buildings, and spent the night in a historic hotel, but I didn’t have time for the museum. That said, while I didn’t see everything, I was delighted by what I did see.

As is common across the upper Midwest, there is a Civil War monument in front of the County Courthouse. (If you don’t know how important this region was during that war, I recommend a visit to the Civil War Museum in Kenosha, WI—the upper Midwest supplied stunning numbers of volunteers and resources).

Across the street from the County Courthouse is the Bridgewater Inn, first opened in 1886, which is where I stayed. The necessary things have been updated, but every effort has been made to preserve the charm of that earlier time.

Happily, there is more to discover if I get back there. Also happily, if I don’t get back, I’m delighted with what I have seen. Traveling around the Midwest continues to support my belief that this is a delightful region.

Marbold Heritage Festival

I’ve mentioned visiting local history museums as a way of learning more about a place, but I recently had the pleasure of exploring another method of discovery: a history festival. Near Greenview, Illinois, a town not far from Springfield, I had the very great pleasure of attending the Marbold Heritage Festival. In this case, I had learned about the festival because they wanted to have a speaker, and they invited me to give two presentations over the two days of the festival. While it’s always fun to share with an appreciative audience, I was also delighted to both learn more about the purpose of the event and enjoy the community gathered to support that purpose.

The Historic Marbold Farmstead was built in 1850 by German immigrant John Marbold, who was a successful local businessman and farmer. The house had fallen into disrepair, and the festival was part of the ongoing effort to raise funds to fully restore it. There is still a fair bit of work to be done inside, but the house is beautiful and definitely taking shape.

The festival involved tours of the house, but also featured amazingly talented local artisans (beautiful carved wood, woven wheat, hand-made jewelry, rugs), purveyors (local honey, pies, BBQ), plus wonderful musicians, a Civil War reenactment group, and antique tractors from local collectors. One individual had an impressive collection of corn-related items, and since I was there to talk about the history of corn, I of course had to visit his display. Most of what he had was familiar, from years of research—devices for shelling corn, gloves and hooks for protecting hands while shucking corn, and more. But proving my contention that there is almost always something new, I found that he had a device I’d never seen before. I’d seen large-scale systems for bagging corn, from the days when all grain was shipped in two-bushel bags. But here was a small-scale device for a lone farmer bagging his own crop. I’d never seen it before.

So next time you see a promotion for a heritage festival, consider going. You never know what you might learn.

Wheeling History Museum

In my book, Destination Heartland, I encourage people to visit smaller, local museums—places that include “Historical Society” or “Historical Museum” in the name. Often, these museums offer collections that hark back to things I remember from childhood: a ViewMaster, an old phone book, savings stamps. But even in very small museums, I always find something I’ve never seen before.

Today, I visited the Wheeling, IL, History Museum, and while there were numerous things that were familiar, either from life or from other museums, there were a couple of things I’d never seen before.

First and foremost was the Mignon typewriter. Created in 1902 in Berlin, this typewriter predates typewriters with keyboards. Below is a photo, but here is a link to some background, focused on a slightly later model than the one in the museum. This site also includes a link to a video that shows how the typewriter worked. Really remarkable.

Also, while I have seen a wide range of stoves over the years, especially old wood-burning varieties, here was one I hadn’t seen before. This one has a lid you can put down, to create more counter space—but the lid bears the warning “Extinguish fire before lowering lid.”

The little museum used to be the Village Hall, and as the center of all things legal, there is a jail cell inside. There are only three rooms, so you don’t need to allow a great deal of time. But that can be an advantage in busy lives. Nearby on the property, there is a lovely little barn and an old church that is now used as a community center.

So definitely get out there and check out local museums. To find one near you, just type the name of a town or county and the words “Historical Museum” or “Historical Society.” And after you discover a local museum, you may even consider joining. We need to keep these places alive.

Kaskaskia—and Lafayette

When I have a speaking engagement that takes me on the road, I always try to find something to visit at my destination or on the way home (on the way there, I’m usually just making sure I arrive on time). A few months ago, on my way home from Murphysboro, IL, (where, in addition to speaking, I enjoyed once again some of the famous smoked offerings at 17th Street Barbecue), I turned my wheels west, heading toward the Mississippi River and then up toward Kaskaskia, one-time Illinois state capital and the only part of Illinois west of the river.

During my drive, I was struck by just how big Illinois is. In the southern part, the unbroken vistas stretch astonishingly far. Lovely farm country, but daunting. Can’t even imagine what the psychological impact must have been for people who visited before highways and automobiles.

Even after reaching and crossing the Mississippi, I had a fair bit of driving to do before reaching Kaskaskia. As remote as it was, I was surprised to run into other visitors there. But that underscores its importance. In addition to its former status as a capital, it was also the site of the farthest west conflict—and victory—of the American Revolution, thanks to the efforts of George Rogers Clark and company.

When I arrived, I viewed the “Liberty Bell of the West” and read all the historic markers. I was also pleased to see a sign memorializing LaFayette’s visit. In 1825–1826, the great French general made a return visit and tour of the country he aided in achieving liberty. Frenchman Julien Icher has followed the route taken by LaFayette during this “farewell tour,” and having seen a few episodes of his video diary of the effort (Follow the Frenchmen), I was delighted to see that he’d made it to Kaskaskia before I arrived. And so I now turn over the tale of this town to him—to share more about Lafayette but also to explain how Kaskaskia ended up on the other side of the Mississippi.

Where the Wild West was Born

You might be surprised to find out how far east the Wild West actually began.

Annie Oakley was born in Darke County, Ohio. You can learn more about the legendary sharp shooter at The National Annie Oakley Center at the Garst Museum, in Greenville, Ohio.

Wyatt Earp was born in Monmouth, Illinois, in a lovely Victorian house on a quiet suburban street that doesn’t hint at the adventurous future (other than the large picture of Earp, to make sure you know you’re in the right place). He grew up in Iowa, which is where his youngest brother Morgan was born. Older brother, Virgil, was born in Kentucky. Like many in the 1800s, the Earp family just kept moving west. Wyatt Earp first became a lawman in Kansas—and would later offer advice about recreating the Wild West to another Iowan, John Wayne.

Wild Bill Hickok was born in Mendota, Illinois. There is a statue of him outside the Mendota historical museum. (A delightful museum that is a good reason to stop in Mendota.)

Buffalo Bill was born in Le Claire, Iowa, where you can drive down Cody Road to the Buffalo Bill Museum. The bar that lays claim to being a favorite hangout, Glur’s Tavern, is in Columbus, Nebraska. (And you can still dine at Glur’s. Pretty good burgers.)

Calamity Jane was born and raised in Missouri, a pretty wild place in the early 1800s.

Jesse James was also born and raised in Missouri, and died there, as well. (The last place James lived is just out the back door of the outstanding Patee House Museum in St. Joseph, Missouri.)

Another notorious outlaw, Harvey Alexander Logan, better known as Kid Curry, was born in Iowa. Curry was said to be wildest member of The Wild Bunch.

Zane Grey, the writer who created the Western literary genre was from Ohio—near Zanesville, which was named for Grey’s grandfather, explorer Ebenezer Zane. (If you want more on Grey, he is remembered in a section of the National Road & Zane Grey Museum in Norwich, Ohio.)

Missouri (St. Joseph) is where the Pony Express originated. (Another great museum.)

Iconic Western towns such as Wichita and Dodge City are in Kansas.

Just to say that its worth remembering that much of the history of the Wild West is, in fact, the history of the Middle West.

Of course, it’s also worth remembering that the speed with which the Midwest grew meant that you had to keep moving if you wanted to stay wild.

(Above photo was taken at the Buffalo Bill Museum in Le Claire, IA.)

Back to Monroe

If you read my book, Destination Heartland: A Guide to Discovering the Midwest’s Remarkable Past, you’ll already know that Monroe, Wisconsin, is the “Swiss Cheese Capital of the USA.” You may also remember that I visited the Ratskeller Restaurant at Monroe’s Turner Hall (and yes, it is Ratskeller, which is Swiss German, vs. Rathskeller, which is German-German). Being in the Swiss Cheese Capital, that first time, I of course had to have the Swiss Cheese Pie. (And they kindly gave me the recipe for this, for inclusion in my book.) But I was enthusiastically informed by my guide that I must return for the Kalberwurst sandwich. I promised I would come back.

A few weeks ago, having a speaking engagement only 30 miles from Monroe, I turned my wheels north and returned, with the goal of keeping that promise. Happily, I was able to connect with the woman who had offered the recommendation, and she joined me for lunch,

The Kalberwurst itself is a veal sausage that originated in Glarus, Switzerland. At the Ratskeller, it is served smothered with caramelized onions and melted Swiss cheese, served on a bun with a small pot of gnarly, slightly sweet mustard. The sandwich was great (and seriously, smothered in onions and melted cheese, how could it be otherwise), but being able to keep a promise is also always a treat.

After lunch and a long chat, I continued on, heading for the Chalet Cheese Co-operative, the last place in the U.S. that makes Limburger cheese. Chalet Cheese is a few miles out of town, amid a rolling, green countryside. The “factory,” pristinely white and perched on a hill overlooking surrounding farms, has a small store where you can stock up on this and other offerings. The co-op uses milk from the 21 member families (ninety-five percent of all Wisconsin dairy farms are family owned), so the cheesemakers always know exactly what they’re getting, with milk coming from Holstein (70%) and Brown Swiss (30%) cows.

The tidy shelves in the modest shop offer mild, medium, and aged Limburger, and Limburger spread. Also on offer are, among other things, dill Havarti, Brick (invented in the U.S. by Swiss cheesemaker John Jossi), a range of processed cheese spreads, and, of course, Swiss in a number of forms. Fortunately, I’d brought a small cooler with me. So yet another reason to visit Monroe (besides those mentioned in my book.)