This Place

There are some places on earth you just cannot forget. Their majesty and beauty make such an impression that they are permanently etched on your mind. Parcels of land filled by magnificent mountains or drenched with sun laden beaches... just the words alone conjure up spectacular images—the Sierra's, Pikes Peak, and Kilimanjaro, or Fiji, the Caribbean, and the Florida Keys. Those places bring a smile to your face and joy to your heart. Those are the places you search for; the places you plan long vacations around. Those are the pictures you remember, forever.

And, then there are places like this...colored pins haphazardly stuck in a wall map for little ones to ask, "Where's this?" It's not a priority to plan a nice long vacation around-- unless, of course, you're visiting Aunt Ginny, then a week or two isn't out of the question. It’s the place you pass by on your way to somewhere else. The nondescript town you stop in to fill up the car, or the place you grab a burger in before crossing the Ohio River into Kentucky. There are plenty of people who'll tell you, though, discovering this town is like finding a diamond at the bottom of the cereal box.

Not what you'd expect!

This place certainly wasn't what I expected when my father moved us here. I was in the middle of my 8th grade year, 13 years old—not a good time to move. If that wasn’t bad enough, I was the awkward, shy, Virginian, navy brat, introvert transplanted into a group of kids that had history together. Major history. Most of them had known each other since kindergarten and looked at me with suspicious eyes. I didn't fit their style of country. I was different. Too tall. Taller than the boys. They said I had a funny accent. Only, they said things like you'ns and slicker'n cat snot, and I said Aunt with a short "a," like the British, and all y'all. I didn’t fit in and didn’t think I ever would. I hated it here. My parents assured me I'd make friends and come to love the area. “Just give it a chance,” they said. I struggled though, even years into this place I struggled to be one of them. My entire school career, there was one constant thought on my mind.

Leaving.

I couldn't wait to leave this po'dunk town and its backwards people. I wanted to live where real people experienced real life, in places where culture thrived. I wanted to experience everything life outside of this place could give me. I wanted to go to places where only those people I met would know my name or my business. Where it was okay to mess up in secret… and keep it secret. That was impossible in this place. I needed to get out and encounter another kind of life. And, got out I did. I spent time in places like Dallas, Texas; Denver, Colorado; the San Francisco Bay Area, and faraway places like Florence, Italy; Forte dei Marmi, Italy; Calais, France; London and Crowley, England. I stayed as far away from Vienna, Illinois as I could get. I enjoyed my life, got married, and began having my own children. And then, my marriage fell apart, and I was left with two little boys under the age of four... and five months pregnant with my third. Where does one go when their world has turned upside down?

Home.

It felt as though a hundred years had passed since I had left this place, and not much had changed. There was still just the one blinking, red light at the intersection of Routes 146 and 45. It was the same sleepy, laid back, not gonna hurry atmosphere. The same slow tractors, and Angus cows, and corn fields and combines throughout the county. The old men still congregated at the local diner, drinking coffee and talking about the recent news. And, the whole town still showed up to support the high school basketball game. The older women still caught up with one another in the grocery store to gossip. But, there was one change I did take note of... me. I saw this town through another set of eyes... my parents’. I knew this place was the one place my children could be raised, safely.

You've heard the stories, haven’t you, of the small towns where the residents never used to lock their doors at night, and would leave their keys in their vehicles? Or drivers waving to every person they pass by? Yep, that was this town. There are no strangers here and crime hovered around zero.

I raised my three boys in this place. They started out as early transplants from much bigger places— places I knew they would go once they graduated high school. They had the same adolescent thoughts I did. We moved to the outskirts of town when they were still young and settled into our small-town routine. I didn’t lock my doors and, more often than not, my keys were left on the floorboard of my car. The only time I brought them inside was when the Sheriff dropped by to inform us of an escaped prisoner from one of the local prisons. Once he was caught, life went back to normal. There was no fear. We lived right on a three-acre plot of land. Nice brick ranch house with a fishing pond in front…life was good in this place.

Johnson County is known for many things. Most notably is Illinois’ longest—serving Sheriff, Elry Faulkner. He’s retired now, after almost 40 years of service to our community. During this time, he survived being shot (point blank, in the chest), and having a fleeing suspect ram his car into Elry’s police cruiser (head on, at 70 mph). He’s a legend—he has been known to put the “fear of God” into mischief makers, and yet, is truly known by his remarkable compassion toward those he arrested. Several inmates wrote to Sheriff Faulkner to let him know how his “talk” during transport helped shape them into the men they are today. You couldn’t ask for a better man.

The countryside here is beautiful.

One of my favorite things to do was drive down a country road, not a care in the world, the feel of the cool, fresh, country air on my cheeks. There’s something about following the winding, twisting roads through the Shawnee National Forest to hidden treasures, such as, Trigg Tower—formerly a Forestry Service fire tower.

I worked for the Forestry Service for a few summers in high school, and later on, I lived just a few miles away from Trigg Tower in the house my mother and I rebuilt, together. Anyone who has lived in this place long enough has climbed this tower a time or two to overlook the Johnson County countryside. In the fall, it is absolutely breathtaking to climb to the top just to see the colors splashed across the countryside.

This place holds many memories for me, especially of the Whitetail deer that would eat the apples that dropped from my tree. I’d sit at the living room bay window watching the deer as they’d amble their way from the woods across the street into my front yard and stop at the apple tree. There were always apples on the ground for them. When they had their fill, they’d walk single file around my house into the back yard, and one by one, hop over the fence to nibble corn from the stalks.

In 1998, not only did this place get its first McDonald’s restaurant—that was a big day, but the state began converting rail road lines, no longer in use, into walking, hiking and biking trails. Formerly known as the Rails to Trails Project, the Tunnel Hill State Trail stretches 45 miles from Stonefort, IL to Karnak, IL., past some of the most incredible scenery, including wetlands to the south and rock formations to the north, with plenty of stops along the way at points of interest. The trail features 23 picturesque trestles, ranging in length and height, complete with decking and side rails, to encourage the rider to stop and enjoy the view. The old Forman Train Depot, now the welcome center, stands at the Vienna City Park adjacent to the Tunnel Hill Bike Trail headquarters.

This place is also part of the Trans America Bike Route (the U.S. 76 Bicycle Route) and the Trail of Tears—the route the Cherokee tribe took during the winter of 1838-39, when they were forced from the Great Smokies into Oklahoma.

There is plenty of history to learn, and more than enough adventures to have if you stumble upon this place. And, there are plenty of people to meet, too. Good people. Sure, there are differences, and even a disagreement, or two, between neighbors. And, everyone may still know everyone else’s business, but, when push comes to shove (when it really matters—even in the midst of incredible tragedy), this town, and this county, have a way of wrapping their arms around you and holding on tight. This is the time we find out that we are more than just neighbors, more than faces behind a wheel that we wave to; we are family. What affects one, affects us all. And no more so was this proven than in the wee morning hours of October 25, 2020, when a deadly, single car accident claimed the lives of three Johnson County teens and severely injured three more—a fourth teen succumbing to his wounds a month later. Multiple families’ lives, across this one county, forever changed in an instant.

This place met the need.

No one asked permission. They simply helped where they could, whether that took on the form of a meal for the grieving families, or coordinating a charity drive to help cover funeral costs, or a simple hug for a student who needed to process his or her loss. This place, this community, came together as one, because that’s what families do. They cry together and mourn the deep, excruciating rips in the fabric of our generations. Families gird us up and help us stand when our legs crumple beneath us; they carry us when we have no strength to go on. We are together, each single thread tightly woven to another in this unbreakable bond of community.

Some places are just like that. They have the ability to sink into your heart and soul, and intertwine their life with yours. This place, Vienna/Johnson County, Illinois, is just that kind of place. It's not much to look at from the outside, like an old Buick you walk around and kick the tires, it's true worth is found when you open the doors, and look under the hood.

Even though it has been close to a decade since I've lived here, I'll always consider this place my home. I have history here, roots that have dug deep into community soil. I might not recognize the faces behind the wheel anymore, but when I come to this place, every time I turn off of I-24 at Exit 16, I feel that nostalgia all over again. This place greets me with an embrace, like a returning prodigal, and gives me a profound sense of peace. I take a deep breath and smile as I turn onto Route 146...

There's no place like home.