More Illinois country, Mississippi & Kaskaskia rivers
August 28, 2009

Breakfast on the “patio” followed by a rainy morning, midafternoon clearing to positive perfection in the 70s. An amusing visit to Walmart for fishing licenses with department manager Teddi’s cute humor and good customer service left us smiling, complete with 24-hour fishing licenses.

The price for said permits is quite reasonable compared to Arizona and most other states. This seems to be in contrast to some Illinois prices evidently spiked by high taxes. For instance, folks along the border appear to bop on over to Missouri to purchase gasoline and cigarettes.

When we were searching earlier for ancestor Ezra Owen’s property on the Kaskaskia River, we came across an interesting access to the river. To that we returned this afternoon, fishing gear in hand. Accessed via a nameless signless narrow gravel road that winds between croplands and farmhouses, a right turn at the river takes us to what looks like a weekend/summer fishing camp with assorted trailers and shacks (I’d love to have a place in there). A turn to the left opens to a cleared area, boat launch and small concrete dock.

The shoreline is a solid mass of jungle-like vegetation and trees, so a cleared spot is necessary to get to the water. We had the place to ourselves; it was beyond bliss sitting there fishing, gazing, watching the occasional kingfisher, egret or heron, enjoying the breeze across the water, sun at our backs.

We thought about putting in with the kayaks, but I vetoed the idea. The river is about 300 feet across with strong currents and an occasional speedboat (three) or jet ski (we saw one) and presumably a barge or two although the only one we saw was moored upstream, and I was not convinced it would be safe for us. And besides, our situation was too good to disturb.

The fish were biting, although it took us a while to learn how to finesse the catfish (a variety we don’t know). In the end, we hauled in 11 fish, the last a whopper - Chris estimated it at six pounds plus. It broke the line just before coming out of the water, but we both got a good look at it - great fun! As usual, we released them all to grow some more.

We broke down camp and got on the road home just in time to meet the other side of the storm, rain that evidently ceased long enough for us to have an idyllic afternoon dreaming that we were in the exact same spot that our ancestors trod when this country was wide open.

Haven’t eaten out much, so grabbed some excellent barbecue from the little family-owned restaurant at the front of the RV park - excellent.

The Owen family, research . . .

The earlier part of yesterday was working to untangle the Owen family knots in addition to other chores and odds & ends. The knots resembled fishing line snarls and didn’t get all that much better for our efforts. As we began to chart our findings from the records, it became obvious that long ago, someone at or for the genealogical society recorded an incorrect marriage for Samuel Adams, whose wife we believe is one of Levi Owen’s daughters, but we know she is not the one who is listed.

Although we were not able to completely solve the mystery, thanks to the miracle of the internet and being able to access instant census records, we proved it was not the one noted at the genealogical society. Of course it helped that we had also found the marriage record back at yon courthouse.

I often remember what it was like getting all these records on microfilm when I first started this, sitting in a darkened room at the LDS library scrolling through microfilm indexes, finding (hopefully) what was needed, ordering the actual census from Salt Lake City, waiting three weeks, returning to the darkened room for additional scrolling, finding (hopefully) the correct entries, trying to make the printer work, but if it refused once again, transcribing the data and discovering later that another ancestor was on the next page, and starting over again.

That process has been supplanted by what we did yesterday. Scenario: What - this doesn’t make any sense with different birth years; let’s find her in the census. Opening one of the genealogy sites, calling up 1850 and 1860 censuses, finding the people in question (not always quite as easy as one would hope), printing it out on the spot on our trusty $100 machine, and voila! the miracle. It changes everything.

Another time when we found the names of ships that Mom and Dad W.’s ancestors immigrated on, we were able to quickly find photos of them - I am amazed at what a tool this is.

So much more . . .

When all was said and done as far as our research here, we know that we will want to return to delve further into Courthouse deeds and to pursue the genealogy society’s holdings once they get them unboxed and reopen their library, presumably with an intact roof this time. In addition, we have not begun to see all the historic and natural sites and fishing holes in “the Illinois country”.

There’s still the Illinois Caverns, which we were disappointed to learn we can’t visit unless two more people suddenly materialize to do it with us. Turns out the requirements are fairly stringent, it being an actual wild cave and all. There must be at least four people in a party, all have to wear hard hats, have three sources of light each, be prepared to slog through at least knee deep water, etc., etc. The underground system is nowhere near to being completely mapped, and there are numerous places where crawling through water is required. We want to come back to do that, finish the historic sites, see the cave winery, explore the national forest, do lots more fishing on the Mississippi and other waterways (I love the Kaskaskia!) , and possibly find properties of ancestors, plus much more. It’s a very exciting and interesting region.

The Gateway arch . . .

And of course there’s the advantage of a big wonderful city just across the river. We went back into St. Louis on Thursday because I couldn’t imagine being here and not going up to the top of the Gateway Arch, touted as a memorial to St. Louis as the “gateway to the West.” When I checked their website and saw a photo of someone peering at the ground from one of those tiny windows leaning out from the top, it made my stomach churn, but the real thing was not quite as terrifying, rather intriguing really. The trip to the top was pretty odd, though.

The person whose job it is to direct people cryptically instructs us: “Go to door three.” Naturally, we did as told with nary a question, standing in a hallway in front of door three, although I couldn’t resist asking the people at door four if they’d like to trade doors. More instructions over the p.a.: "remain behind the railing.” Easy enough. Eventually, all the doors open simultaneously, a bunch of people emerge and we enter with further directions to “duck” or something like that. As usual, I can understand next to nothing of important information given to me over a public address system.

It quickly becomes clear why one’s head should be kept down, or better yet stashed on one’s lap. The reason is that the doors are engineered to admit only midgets, which is just as well because the inside of the compartment in which one trusts one’s life to some cable (frayed?) hidden from view is round(???) and little. Stoop-shouldered folks have a big advantage at this point; their heads may be held forward far enough that they don’t get the nearly universal bump(s) on the noggin that is the physical toll for not being smart enough to stay on the ground.

The door closes, followed by a few minutes of conversation with the strangers whose knees your knees are touching, completely concerning how small are the cars and how big is the lump on your head.

Okay, door opens and they are complete strangers after all, so we leave our knee neighbors and advance to THE VERY TOP, a narrow hallway affair with carpeted leaning places that allow us to peer through narrow horizontal portholes to the ground 603 feet below. Much gratitude that the wind is not blowing, thus without the view, we would never realize that we have lost our marbles and proceeded to a dizzying height inside a structure that obviously can’t stand, but that somehow is standing.

We look through various portholes as if somehow the view will change by moving from one to another. Well, it actually does somewhat from one side to the other: one affords a look at the handsome old courthouse and the other direction lets us look directly down at the Mississippi River.














Chouteau Island, old Route 66 . . .

And speaking of that grand river, we have crossed it nearly every day we’ve been here, and now have crossed it on foot. This morning (Saturday) we went to Chouteau Island, north of here, where we walked two miles round trip from Illinois to Missouri and back across on the old Chain of Rocks bridge, a bypassed section of old Route 66. What a great view from there to see the limestone shoals that create the only “rapids” in the Mississippi. A channel has been created to allow ships to skip right by that difficult section. We saw our first Caspian tern of the trip while up there; I loved the sight of a formation of Canada geese flying below us and landing on the water. The span is a popular walking and bicycling route.

Afterward, we fished in the river where Chris caught our first-ever Mississippi River fish. It was a tedious exercise, however, because of all the snags. I liked fishing the Kaskaskia much more. More wandering and then back to Cahokia, which despite our home being here, we have scarcely noticed.


Cahokia . . .

Cahokia was the original French settlement of the entire region, but is in the (later named) American Bottom, so called because it is located on a huge flood plain on the later-American side of the river. That fact is undoubtedly why there is little evidence of the 1699 French settlement here. We visited the Holy Family Parish Church that was built in 1799 as the third church on the site, the first being in 1699. It is of beautiful post-on-sill construction, currently utilized for some masses and weddings. We were able to go inside because another couple had called and asked for access. Truthfully, I didn’t listen to the information about the church, but instead spent some time meditating in a forward pew. The energy was beautiful and moving.

Some of the many burials there are memorialized out back, the oldest extant was from 1710.

The neighboring Jarrot mansion family are there also. That stately home is open only on occasion. Too bad the next opening is two weeks distant. We peered in the front door, would love to see the whole place. It is the oldest brick building in Illinois, constructed in 1810.

Lewis & Clark’s winter camp is less than 20 miles from Cahokia. They both would have been in attendance at the nearby so-called Cahokia courthouse, a 1740 residence later converted to the first administrative and judicial center for the Northwest Territory. Surprisingly, it has been moved three times for display at world’s fairs and the like, and is now back to its original site. The famed Lewis & Clark spent substantial time in this structure which housed the post office through which their correspondence passed .

Much more . . .

Next time we are here, we will visit Camp DuBois, where the duo of explorers wintered before starting across the great unknown. We will spend much more time fishing and exploring and will see the historic sites we have missed, and probably take more advantage of varied dining experiences in St. Louis (any would be more).

Time travel, the Eads bridge . . .

And speaking of the city, we got back over there to go to the flicks once more, this time seeing “Time Travelers Wife”. I thought it was pretty good; Chris liked it more than I did; however, I was happy to get a second chance to photograph the theater’s lobby dining experience set up to resemble a drive-in theater.

Chris was delighted at a find when we were walking the Mississippi Riverfront on our way to climb the arch. As we walked under and admired the architectural features of an old bridge, then read an interpretative sign about it, he suddenly realized it was the Eads Bridge, completed in 1874, the first span of the lower Mississippi. It was considered an engineering marvel at its time. He had read about it in a book I found for him at Bookman’s in Phoenix, thanks to a trip with friend Leslie - “The Great Mississippi Flood of 1927 and How It Changed America”, a tome that intrigued him beyond any I’ve seen him read. The volume evidently encompassed the entire political, geographical and sociological situation of the day, incorporating all the background to explain the whats, whys and wherefores of the great calamity.

At any rate, he knew all about the Eads Bridge and was flabbergasted to discover that it is not only still in existence, but is a beautiful and fully utilized span transporting a full load of vehicles and trains across the muddy Mississippi.

At the base of the bridge, we loved seeing a memorial to the Lewis & Clark expedition - a statue of the two intrepid travelers as they return to St. Louis in triumph. We know that they were met and feted by pretty much the entire populace upon their return.

Planning . . .

Wifi at this park is sporadic, a condition that seems more common in places where we are required to pay for the service. Why that would be is beyond me, but we have found it to be true. It’s irritating to shell out extra bucks for internet hookup only to find that the connection is dubious at best and nonexistent at worst.

We have formulated a plan - an amazing feat for us. Tomorrow, Sunday, we depart for Indiana where we hope to see cousin Sharon whom we met last year and to tend to unfinished business regarding repair of our ancestral McKinney gravestones. Additional activity will be to do research in the Allen County Public Library, renowned for its genealogy resources. Approximately a week in that location, then two days to get to North Carolina and Mom and Dad W.