Doubleness, doubleness, dumb

Illinois’s rolling hills of corn would astonish even the most farm-accustomed eyes. As we drove through corridors of corn-lined farm and county roads on our way to the next utopia, Mom and I could hardly believe the necessity of such an abundance of corn, but at the same time, we were taken by the beauty of the consistent color and height of the stalks as they doubled the shape of the land. Dotting this landscape occasionally would be the striking contrast of a red barn with double silos, but out of this steady, almost predictable, repetition of views emerged the vision that was and remains Bishop Hill. As we crossed the "mighty Edwards River" from the north and topped the hill, we were greeted with the sight of a large white structure that resembled a strange hybrid of a barn with its double gable and an opera house with double staircases leading to its upper floor. This building proved to be the most interesting among the surviving structures of this community established in 1846 as it was the first permanent structure of Erik Jansson and his followers. In order to reach the promise of freedom in the United States, the Janssonists pooled their profits from the sale of their farms and property in Sweden and collectively purchased passage and their new property in the New World. The survivors of the trip followed by a harsh winter built this oddity of a structure that served the dual functions of living and worship. Small rooms in the basement and ground levels each accommodated a single family while the entire space of the upper level was a sanctuary. As the docent pointed out, the economy of the rooms was sufficient for a family since the space was only used for sleeping; all families dined together in a large structure known as Big Brick (now destroyed), and the remainder of the day would have been spent laboring. The remaining assemblage of buildings was arranged quite interestingly around a central area that has been reserved as a common green space, cemetery, and memorial grounds. It was once the site of the original dug-out dwellings in which the residents of Bishop Hill stayed during the first winter, but it now serves as an excellent vantage point for observing the arrangement of this community.

Mom and I began our morning in Bishop Hill at the bakery where we enjoyed the latest round of baked goodies (lingonberry and orange muffin and a cherry cheese danish) and moved from there to the Bishop Hill museum where we met a descendent of an original colonist who had countless stories of growing up in post-colony Bishop Hill. Most impressive along our walk to the museum, which was just a few blocks outside of town, was the general attention to landscaping paid by almost all of the current residents. There is certainly pride, not only their Swedish heritage which is prominently demonstrated by the numerous native flags along the sidewalks but also in the dedication to preserving this town by actually living in it. While there, we also visited the Colony Hotel that once accommodated up to 10 guests. These were not tourists like the Shakers saw visiting their church services and observing the inspired believers; instead, almost all of these visitors to the Illinois prairies were potential buyers of the goods produced at Bishop Hill. Also on our self-guided tour of this community we visited the steeple building/meeting hall, and lastly, we had lunch at PJ Johnson's Dining Hall where the special was, of course, Swedish Meatballs...yum.

After lunch, we took off through more fields of corn for what I was hoping would be the highlight of my utopia visits. Nauvoo, I knew, would contribute to the evolving “double” theme of the day as it was a double-layered utopia itself. First founded by Joseph Smith and his brother, Hyrum, this Mormon settlement was established in a bend of the Mississippi River and prospered for several years. After the murders of the Smith brothers, however, many of the Mormons left the Illinois establishment and headed west for Utah. My interest in Nauvoo begins here where large sections of the town were sold to another group of utopianists searching for a place that might become the realization of what Plato, Thomas More, and Charles Fourier had only dreamt of. Etienne Cabet and several hundred followers (known as Icarians after Cabet’s fictional account of a utopia named Icaria) came to Nauvoo with an already somewhat broken idealism since their first settlement in the plains of Texas had proven almost disastrous, but upon arrival in Illinois, their hope resurged. I had read several listings of a museum that documented this group, and before arriving I had attempted numerous times to contact someone about a visit. My hopes resurged upon arrival in Nauvoo, like those French settlers, when I saw a sign that heralded an Icarian Living History Museum. Sadly, as I rounded the corner of the cornfield I saw no museum, only a house with a kiosk in the front yard. Bravely, I walked onto the porch in hopes that this might be the gem of my trip, and just as my knuckles approached the door, I realized that the small green post-it with faded handwriting clarified that this was now a private residence and no longer a museum. At least, now, the ignored phone calls were explained. Nauvoo turned out to be just as much a bust for me as it had been for the Mormons and the Icarians.

Mom and I didn’t let this get us down though. We headed for town in hopes of finding treats, and we lucked out. We found a funny little place that we overheard had been in operation for three generations. It resembled a movie theater from the exterior but was a soda fountain on the inside. After refreshing ourselves with a bowl of ice cream, we set out to explore the rest of Nauvoo finding that most of the preservation energies in this little town had been spent on its Mormon heritage. The temple at the edge of town overlooking the Mississippi River was lovely in its monumentality, and we had a pleasant time driving through the Joseph Smith Historic Site dodging children, listening to a group of bagpipers, and snapping photos from the cool interior of the car.

Leaving Nauvoo, we traveled along the shore of the Mississippi, something that sounds much more ambitious than it really was. It was beautiful, but I can’t resist including here the unspeakably irritating drivers that populate both sides of this section of the Mississippi River. Maybe it’s in the water. Because of the short of interest we found in Nauvoo we arrived at our evening destination much earlier than we had planned. Hannibal, Missouri, birthplace of Mark Twain, turned out to be a charming little place, also along the Mississippi River. Mom and I ordered take out from a little local pizza place downtown and explored the shops as we waited. It was a nice, quiet evening…we were only almost run over by speeding, unyielding downtown drivers maybe three times.