Driving through Forgottonia
Today is the first day of my spring break. I slept in—the time change has me all out of whack. But Erin and Madelyn and I still found the time for a drive on the back roads south of Macomb—which a lot of folks call “Forgottonia.” Much of our part of Illinois is strikingly rural, sleepy, and decaying. At least that’s what we saw today.
We started out on the roads I where I often run. From our house to open fields of corn and beans is about a ten minute trip. We had heard that work on Illinois 336 was nearing an intersection near my five mile point, so we headed there, but earthmovers were nowhere to be found. Not much farther along, we reached Fandon, IL, the unofficial capital of Forgottonia, where a row of tractors along the road caught my eye. What else is in Fandon? Two churches, about ten houses, and some trailers.
Heading south of Fandon we saw the Bethel Baptist Church and the cemetery across the road.
Continuing east of Fandon we passed an Amish school, two simple buildings with about five buggies parked outside, and a dozen children horsing around near the buggies. We stopped at the Hilltop Grocery, an Amish scratch-and-dent store in Colmar, and bought a few things: cat litter, charcoal, cereal. While Madelyn used the potty, two Amish girls rung up our purchases on a hand-operated adding machine. After we left I realized there were no electric lights in the store. And the potty was a porta-john.
From Colmar it’s not far to Plymouth, where the town square is half empty. (One of a hundred recycled town names; Illinois also has Cuba, Tennessee, Carthage, Havana, Vermont, Birmingham, and St. Augustine.) Two bars on the south side, near an abandoned hardware store. A playground under the water tower in the center. On the northeast corner, a post office next to a dusty “Community Center” with a window full of old trophies.
Erin wanted to check out a new state park nearby, so we continued south through Augusta, where a train was idling on a siding. Not far away is what we believe is the old high school. We drove by the very new school, in fact still under construction, since a 2006 fire claimed much of Southeastern High. And Madelyn got to see some trains.
Unfortunately, Weinberg-King State Fish & Wildlife Area wasn’t the kind of park we like. The campground was brand new, but it’s mostly open space, and hunters and horseback riders are the target audience. We picked up a trail map anyway, then turned toward home. Just outside of Brooklyn we found ourselves in the middle of an oil field. Yes, Illinois has oil. None of the pumps we saw looked active, but it was still interesting to see oil pumps and tanks less than 25 miles from our house.
We passed a hundred things I thought about stopping to look at: abandoned cars, barns falling down, farm equipment decaying on the side of the road, old railroad grades. I’m not sure why driving through dying small towns and seeing abandoned infrastructure interests me. I certainly take no joy hearing about the closing factories and school consolidation. But still I am drawn to the rusting tractors, the old roads with weeds poking through and trees encroaching, the bricks crumbling. A drive north would take us to happier places: a playground Madelyn’s friends like, a cafe we’ve heard good things about, a state park that’s more our style. Maybe next time.
