A Glimpse of Historic Charm

By Nancy L. Uznanski

A steady hum from the breeze passing through our open Chevy station wagon windows reduced any temptation to talk as we turned homeward from a late September outing. Air conditioned cars were a luxury then. The quiet relaxed state of travelers as they return from a journey had descended on us. My brother and I leaned against the frames of our respective doors and lazily gazed out windows while my little sister slept with her head tucked against my arm. Mom was driving south on Lemont Road and Dad wanted the two of us to stay alert because he said we would soon see a remnant of a once famous canal.

A broad curve moved us into a sweeping descent down a long bluff in a heavily wooded area, where a few houses flanked the road sides. In their late summer glory, the trees sent a bit of refreshingly woodsy air our way with a slight earthy, nutty scent. At that moment, we were called to attention and I caught my first glimpse of the Village of Lemont.

For me, it was love at first sight! Across from us an astonishing assortment of steeples glinted in the early evening sun as they peeked through trees on the opposite bluff. Houses all around them dotted the height and breadth of the hillside. The intricacies of the scene were a feast for my imagination.

Before us, the valley opened to a 19th century storybook village. We crossed the Des Plaines River and entered town over one of the prettiest and narrowest old cement bridges I had seen in my entire nine years of existence. Just beyond us, the old buildings and narrow road looked like the perfect place for horses to be pulling buckboards piled high with packaged goods as they clopped down the street.

Then there it was. The tiny Illinois and Michigan (I&M) Canal that made Chicago a great city; by connecting New York to the Mississippi River and Gulf of Mexico, passed under a much shorter bridge. The canal had dwindled to a deep, limestone sided, weed filled ditch with a trickle of water. It was no longer the mighty route Dad had described.

But our interest in the village was piqued, and Lemont became a passage to adventure throughout my youth. We even discovered a few of its secrets, including stories about ghosts in the cemetery surrounding Saint James of the Sag Church, dangers encountered by swimmers in the abandoned limestone quarries, and Indians who had lived in the area and frequented Black Partridge Woods.

When my husband and I learned that we both had been enchanted by the village as children, we made it our home. Here, we built a photography business, raised our family, I wrote a weekly column for the Lemont Reporter Newspaper and taught school. And we have always felt welcome as we have participated in community life.

Through time, the Village has also grown. It has revitalized itself and our historic canal; and I’ll bet it still charms others as they see its spectacular view from the hill for the first time.