It is five o’clock in the morning, and I’m looking out my kitchen window as I enjoy my morning cup of coffee. Rosemary and the children are still sound asleep. In the east I can see a few new factories that are still closed because of the early hour. I turn slightly and look to my left, and I see dozens of huge, new homes enclosed by new white fences, and their large green wood patios. I can hear the sounds of cars beginning the morning rush-hour traffic on the road. It seems like yesterday, the only thing visible was open farmland, and the sound of cars this early was unusual.
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My family lived in Cook county, Illinois. When I was 15 years old I had a drivers license and owned an old 1947 Kaiser car.
I began my trip to Lake County when I was 15 years old. My brother and I began fishing in Fox Lake during the summer months when Lake County was populated mostly by people living in summer cottages. Fifteen years later, I took my three children fishing at Fox Lake during their summer vacations. I worked Saturdays, and we went fishing Wednesdays. On the way to the lake, we passed an old, two pump gas station alone in a field. It was located on the north side of Rt. 12, and it had a sign which read, “Fill up and get a free pony ride.” On our way home from fishing, it became part of our routine to fill my car while the children rode the ponies. Rt 12 at that time consisted of one lane going northwest and one lane going south east almost the entire way.
That was many years ago, and at that time I was working on a project in Addison. During our coffee break, I mentioned our fishing and riding day to a friend. Eugene told me, “Ralph, you should buy your kids a pony. They like riding, and they will love to have their own horse. You can keep it at my farm near Lake Zurich. I won’t charge you for boarding the pony, if you do some repairs while the kids ride.” At first it didn’t seem logical, but months later, he finally convinced me to buy a pony.
A year later, I began to search for vacant property that I could afford, and ended up buying five acres located on Midlothian Rd. near Gilmer Rd... Not too long after this, plans were drawn, concrete was poured, a huge truckload of lumber was delivered, and I began to build our home. During the building process, my wife and I were still concerned about moving to the country. We always lived in Chicago, and this was going to be a huge change for us.
During the winter when I was driving to the construction site, I drove the 294 expressway, and exited onto Rt. 60. I wasn’t familiar with the highway, and a severe winter storm was dumping a huge amount of snow. The expressway was lined with farms and vacant land. There were no homes or businesses, just snow. When I turned onto Rt. 60, a two lane highway, it was almost nonexistent. It wasn’t plowed, and there were only a few car tracks on the road. As I drove west I began to worry, because the storm was getting more intense, and the only thing visible was white empty fields. I continued driving west to Rt. 45, and finally there was a gas station. Then at Diamond Lake, civilization seemed to appear. There were homes, mostly summer cottages, and they were scattered. I continued driving to Midlothian Rd. On the west corner was a small gas station, and the only other building west of Midlothian Rd. was Quig’s apple orchard. I turned on Midlothian Rd. towards Lake Zurich, and on the left was a small fire station that had a volunteer work force. After driving two and a half miles past farms, a small community of Sylvan Lake appeared on my right. This was another community consisting of many summer cottages. My property was across the road, but there still was no sign of snow plows. I decided to turn the car around and return home.
Although, everything here seemed foreign to us, my wife and my two older sons worked every weekend for eight months until finally, when the walls were painted, and the floors were finished, we moved into our new home. Soon after we moved in, our pony had four horses as companions, along with many other animals.
My neighbor Don, had a dairy farm located about a city block from my home. His herd of cows totaled fifty to sixty and he milked them twice a day. Another neighbor with a herd of Holstein cows lived only two miles south of my home on Midlothian Rd., but my favorite diary farm was directly east of our place. It was the Volling dairy farm. My children enjoyed going there to bring home fresh milk and eggs twice a week. They enjoyed talking to the Vollings, and also played with the young calves and piglets in their barn. The milk was drawn directly from the large stainless steel holding tanks that kept the milk clean and fresh until it was picked up the following day by the dairy trucks. Volling had a beautiful herd of Holsteins.
Mickalow had the farm behind my small farm. His was a vegetable farm and during the summer months they hired migrant workers from Mexico. I enjoyed talking to the workers and, sometimes on a Sunday afternoon, they would saddle one of my horses and ride. They lived in small shacks with tin roofs that must have been terribly hot in the summer, because the workers usually sat outside until late in the evening. They worked here during the spring and summer months, and moved back to Mexico when winter arrived. My kids spent many days in the field working with the Mexicans, I’m not sure they did any work, but they sure had a great time being with the workers. When it was lunch time, I would walk to the top of the hill and stand on the fence to look for the children. There in the field everyone was bent over picking vegetables, and I could see the Mexican’s black hair, and three or four blonde heads, these were mine.
Looking out the window I now can’t believe how the area as changed. When I moved here my property, and my neighbor’s property, were corn fields. Behind the corn field was the dairy farm with cows feeding on the rich alfalfa field. I fenced in my property to keep the horses in. I could see for miles in three directions. It was beautiful and in the winter it looked like a post card. During the evening only the sound of crickets and frogs was heard. It was a rare event when the sound of a car was heard after dark. The sky was bright with sparkling stars that seemed to be so close that it almost seemed possible to reach out and touch them. Gurney Mills, Great America, Hawthorne Mall and Vernon Hills were only builder’s dreams. The entire area had beautiful farms that filled the landscape on both sides of Milwaukee Ave. and also Rt. 60.
My older children went to Fremont school, which was located in a field surrounded by farms. The average class size was seven to twelve children. My younger children went to St. Mary’s school in Fremont Township. The average class size there was 5 to 10 children. Across from the school was a feed lot that always had a couple dozen Black Angus cows feeding outside. The air around the school usually had the sweet smell of hay and cow manure. Next to this was the Fremont Feed. It was a small feed mill where we could buy oats, corn, seeds, hay and other farm supplies.
The Lake County Fairgrounds at Rt. 120 and Rt. 45. The fairgrounds were a special place for my family. The buildings were the only buildings at this corner with the exception of the farm bureau and the extension building. . A mile north of Center St. was civilization again. Gages lake had homes and a few small stores scattered along the East side of Rt. 45 to Washington. Every year we spent a few weekends riding in horse shows at the fairgrounds. The week of the fair, my family worked the small animal petting zoo, and everyone enjoyed it immensely. The young boys were allowed to sleep overnight during the fair. It was common procedure to stay over and watch your animals. Besides managing the zoo, and riding in horse shows, they exhibited many other animals.
Many mornings I saddled my horse, and rode along the fields of Lake County area for hours admiring the beautiful countryside. Riding in the winter snow was my favorite. It was peaceful and beautiful. The new fallen snow converted the fresh plowed fields into a winter wonderland. Never seeing a footprint in the snow, and yet sometimes crossing the path of a seemingly lost rabbit, or riding close to a couple deer pawing the ground looking for a few last ruminants of grass buried under the snow. Sometimes a pheasant would take flight in front of us when it heard the hoof beats on the ground getting close. There aren’t many things as enjoyable as experiencing the peace and solitude of a winter ride in the country.
When spring arrived, these farms and fields that were plowed deep exhibited the rich, black, fertile soil that is common in Illinois. In the late spring they became deep green, and by late summer they were filled with mature wheat, corn, oats, and hay. They had beautiful gold stalks of straw in the fall after the oats were harvested, and finally the beautiful white fields of the winter’s first snow.
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I’m finished with my coffee, and my truck should be warm. I turn off the lights as I leave the house. Before I drive onto the road I look around one more time and wonder, when did this beautiful landscape change from country to bustling suburbs? Then, I put the truck in gear and begin my daily drive to the city.
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