Sometimes forest preserves include more prairie than forest here in the Prairie State, but not so for the Aurora West Forest Preserve in Kane County.
Forest means forest, once you walk a short way along a wide path.
Supposedly it’s a path for unleashed dogs, but we didn’t have our dog, and we didn’t see anyone else’s either. Or anyone else at all.
A good place to imagine you’re far from the works of man.
Mostly.
Back in the days of paper letters and postcards, not every correspondence I started ended up in the mail. I have an entire file of letters and a few postcards that I didn’t finish and didn’t mail.
Usually that was for ordinary reasons, such as forgetting to complete it for months, by which time the news was stale. Only on rare occasions did I write a letter and think better of sending it because of its content, though I have a few insolent work memos of that kind.
I wrote a large postcard to a friend of mine in Illinois on August 27, 1983, while I was still in New York City. I think it got lost among the papers I had with me a few days later when I went to Nashville, and all these years later, I still have it.
Note the missing piece. I got as far as stamping the thing, but later removed it for re-use.
The printed text of the card says:
ALLOSAURUS (foreground) was a large, meateating dinosaur that lived during the Jurassic period of earth history, about 140 million years ago. This aggressive reptile, which preyed upon other dinosaurs, was about 30 feet long and probably weighed several tons when it was alive. Several individuals of CAMPTOSAURUS, a small, inoffensive, plant-eating dinosaur, are shown in the background.
Painting on Display
THE AMERICAN MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY
NEW YORK, U.S.A.
I wrote, in part:
Dear R—
I have come to New York to learn such oddities as “August is Bondage Month,” which a simple advertisement in the window of the Pink Pussycat Boutique told me. [Remarkably, the shop is still there; give the people what they want, I guess.]
Since the long line to pass through customs at JFK [returning from Europe], I’ve shuffled first to the P’s house in New Rochelle, then S’s house in Stamford, Conn. Since last Friday (the 19th), I have been at D’s apartment while she is on the Jersey shore with her parents. This is a good arrangement. I’ve become acquainted with the Village and various other parts of the city.
This card, for instance, is an accurate portrait of Brooklyn, by the East River.
Tucked away north of Higgins Road but south of I-90 (the Jane Addams Memorial Tollway) in Hoffman Estates, Illinois, is Greve Cemetery. It’s about a half a mile to the west of Fabbrini Park as the crow flies, which I guess would be a fitting bird to seek out an obscure burying ground.
For a suburban development, the streets of the surrounding neighborhood of Barrington Square are fairly dense, with houses and townhouses of various configurations lining the way. A lot of people were out and about on those streets and yards late in the afternoon when I parked on Abbey Wood Drive to look for the cemetery, but no one else was interested in it.
It wasn’t hard to find.
Greve Cemetery
In 1827 was called “Wild Cat Grove”
Johann Gerhard Greve settled here from
Hanover, Germany, in 1838
Purchased land from government in 1842
Property was first used as a family and
Community cemetery in the 1840s
Sold to Cook County in 1899
Acquired by the village of Hoffman Estates in 1989
Ah, those plucky German settlers. The cemetery is atop a small hill — pretty much the only kind in Illinois — and thick with oaks and other tall trees.
Fenced in completely. I assume because of a history of wanker vandals beginning with the surrounding development in the late 20th century.
Still, most of the stones are visible. Including the Greves.
And the Völkenings, complete with umlaut.
Stones without much left to tell their tales.
A short history of the cemetery is here, and another article about it is here.
Thirty years ago, I spent much of my first summer in Japan wandering around the Kansai, the part of the country focused on the Osaka-Kyoto-Nara-Kobe megalopolis. On August 18, 1990, I sent a postcard featuring the Kinkaku-ji to San Antonio. This is the card. I never made such a good image of the place. Or any image that I remember. For much of the time I lived in Japan, I had no camera.
Dear Jim,
My latest trip to Kyoto took me here… It’s a Zen temple. The gold color is gold leaf. The only thing the postcard doesn’t depict are the swarms of tourists behind the pavilion, each with a camera….
Dees
This is actually the Kinkaku, the Golden Pavilion (kin means gold), which is a major part of the large Kinkaku-ji temple complex (ji being a suffix meaning temple), which is formally known as Rokuon-ji.
Everyone sees the Kinkaku-ji. It’s like taking a look at Big Ben or the Eiffel Tower. That happened to be the first of a number of times I went there on a day trip, usually in the company of a visitor from the U.S.
The Golden Pavilion is often mentioned in the same breath as the Silver Pavilion, Ginkaku-ji, gin meaning silver, also in Kyoto. That too was a place to take out-of-towners.
Ontarioville, Illinois, is the geographic equivalent of a ghost sign on the side of a building. Its history is detailed by Neil Gale of the Digital Research Library of the Illinois History Journal. Enough to note here that it was a 19th-century town, but it didn’t prosper in the 20th century for various reasons, not enough to remain a distinct entity. Now Ontarioville is the name of a neighborhood in northwest suburban Hanover Park.
One bit of residuum from the town is the Old Ontarioville Cemetery, located on an unattended slice of land between the driveway to a water reclamation facility and the parking lot of the Grace Orthodox Presbyterian Church.
It only has a scattering of stones, mostly obscured by grass in August and illegible anyway.
Some have almost completely worn away.
But not the Schick stone.
Or the Harmening stone.
Fred Schick (d. 1933) owned a general store in the community in the early 1900s and was postmaster besides, so it seems likely that Schick Road, a thoroughfare not far to the south, was named for him. He rests in the weedy cemetery with his wife Sophia, who lived to 1952, and his son, who died at 17 in 1920.
Heinrich Harmening (d. 1903), here with wife Dorothea (d. 1924), seems like a somewhat bigger fish in this small pond, apparently owning a prosperous dairy farm and building a large house on what is now U.S. 20 (as pictured in Gale’s article). I must have driven by it many times without noticing, so one fine day I might go looking for it, if it’s still around.
During our long drive to the Canadian Rockies and back in the summer of 2006, we made a stop on the return in Bismarck, North Dakota (and Zap, too). Mainly to see the state capitol — my kind of sight.
Outside the building is a statue of John Burke, 10th governor of North Dakota and Treasurer of the United States for all of the Wilson administration, among other offices he held in the Progressive Era. My kind of sight as well — and my kind of whimsy to have Lilly, age 8, pose with it.
It’s a duplicate of a bronze by Utah sculptor Avard Fairbanks, put in its current place in 1963. Looks pretty good for being out in the Dakota winters for so many years. The summers as well, since I remember that day in Bismarck was pretty hot.
Note the hat covering one of Burke’s feet. I just noticed it the other day, looking at the picture. It’s my Route of Seeing cap, given to me by Ed. I told him I would take pictures of in various places, to send to him. I wonder whether I remembered to do so in this case (I was wearing it in the Zap picture as well).
Forward to 2011. We went to Washington, DC, that summer. Part of the visit involved a tour of the U.S. Capitol. Where is the original Fairbanks statue of Honest John Burke? There.
Naturally I had Lilly, now 13, stand next to it. Bet not many non-North Dakotans can say they’ve posed with both, and probably a fair number of North Dakotans haven’t either.
The image didn’t come out so well, but so what. By then I wasn’t carrying around Route of Seeing, though it’s still tucked away with our other caps somewhere. Maybe I’ll take it somewhere again. (More likely, I’ll forget.)
Some unusually cool days this week. I’m not sure whether that had anything to do with what happened at about 7:45 pm on Wednesday out on our deck. I was sitting out there, decompressing from a day of work and other tasks, when I saw a dark blob hit one of our deck loungers. Twack!
Two cicadas. Noiseless, though the cicadas have been doing their twilight bleating for a few weeks now. Crickets are also singing after dark, though maybe not as strongly as they will closer to their seasonal demise. By Thursday morning, when I next checked, the cicadas were gone.
Happy to report there’s a thin mosquito population this year, at least around here. Flies have taken up the slack. Seems like one gets in the house every day through the back door, including some of the metallic-colored ones that used to fascinate me as a kid.
Also in the back yard: blooming hibiscus. Could be Hibiscus syriacus. I can also call it rose of Sharon, though I understand that’s applied to other flowers as well.
At Starved Rock State Park recently, I spotted his plaque near the lodge. Looking its century-plus age, including countless touches of Lincoln’s nose.
“Commemorating the deeds of the Union veterans of the Civil War,” it says. The Ladies of the Grand Army of the Republic erected it in 1914. Looks like the Ladies, who are still around, were trying to keep up with the Daughters.
Chronicling a lot of violence, but also a thing of great beauty.
Our most recent episode of Star Trek: “A Piece of the Action.” I suggested it as one of three options — an action/adventure story, or one of the show’s tendentious eps, or comedy. Ann picked comedy. I’d forgotten how much of a hoot “Action” is, with the high jinks gearing up especially after Kirk and Spock got into pseudo-gangster duds and Shatner hammed it up.
Tucked between an equipment rental shop and a truck accessories store on Irving Park Road in northwest suburban Roselle is Trinity Lutheran Cemetery. It’s also known as Freinenigreit Cemetery, according to a number of sources, including Find-A-Grave, but not any signs at the cemetery itself (that I noticed).
The alternate name speaks to the German heritage of this part of the Chicago suburbs, and the names of some of the earlier permanent residents reflect that as well: Botterman, Engel, Freitag, Geistfeld, Habermeier, Hattendorf, Reuter and Schmidt.
It’s a small slice of a cemetery, about 300 burials, many of which are recent. Those names tend to be more varied: Abraham, Burkinshaw, Dunbar, Ek, Hernandez, Pastori, Smakal and Tumminaro.
A nice design for a simple stone.
For an infant, born and died in 2004.
This one caught my attention.
I looked up Jake. A bright lad, just a little younger than my oldest child, who died suddenly of an undetected heart condition.
During our Saturday walk at Spring Valley Nature Sanctuary, we wandered into the Illinois Heritage Grove, which is section of the sanctuary devoted to native woody plants. A mini-arboretum.
The last time I spent any time there was in the fall, when things looked a bit different: 
Summer. Roughly the same view of part of the oval path through the grove.
For now, the grove’s bushes and trees are garbed in greenery. Such as the American plum (Prunus americana).
The hackberry (Celtis occidentalis).
The elderberry (Sambucus canadensis).
Remember, your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.
On August 1 we visited Spring Valley again, about two months after our most recent visit. The place is flush with a different selection of flowers and other flora than in June.
Glad to see that cornflowers are still blooming there. I think of it as a July flower.
I take this to be a kind of lily, but not sure the details.
A Google reverse image search suggests peony for this, but I doubt it. Still, a nice little cluster.
A larger cluster. Valerian?
Looks similar, but a different color.
Hard to believe it won’t be long before Spring Valley will look like this.
