A River Runs Through It

It was the river that drew settlers to this part of Illinois in the early 1800s, and the river that sustained them. 

The town was sited here for two important reasons. The first was transportation. The stagecoach line forded the river here on its way to Chicago. And second, the Fox River provided the ideal site for a dam. Water power was needed and mills were being built in each little village along the waterway to harness its energy and turn the wheels of future industry. 

Not only was the riverbank ripe for development, it was bounded by a lush prairie where birds and animals made their homes among the vegetation. The beauty of the plains, alive with the songs of birds and the fragrant scent of wildflowers, welcomed those early families and softened their difficult journey.

These ambitious new settlers were rewarded with a clear stream that contained a variety of fresh water fish, clams, turtles and crayfish. Clamshells covered the river bottom. There were places where the water was shallow enough to wade to the numerous islands that rose above the water. It was an amazing playground.

Soon after the area was settled, a stagecoach inn was built on Jefferson Street next to the river. A few years later, Daniel Gray built his mill.  Since the water in the Fox River was shallow, the mill wheels here were horizontal, underneath the buildings, unlike the vertical wheels seen next to the mills in the east. The power from these mills sparked several new industries along their banks. A large water turbine from the mill is displayed in Montgomery Park on North River Street.

Over time, the river became polluted from industrial waste, and the sewage systems in the growing towns upriver began to contaminate the once-pristine waterway. As early as 1913, ice companies stopped cutting ice on the river because the water quality was so poor. 

Parents cautioned their children to stay out of the water to prevent the spread of disease and germs. But, being children, they would always be attracted to water, especially on a hot summer day.

This was particularly true of a group of young boys known about town as the River Rats. They fished, made rafts and crude boats, swung from tree branches to jump into the water, and explored the islands. There was nothing as wonderful as being a young boy looking forward to an endless summer ahead, exploring the river from early morning until dinnertime. 

Some of the more dedicated young River Rats would set out early on a fall morning to trap beaver. It was a favorite memory of several generations of them. As you may have guessed, as each generation of young boys moved on, another River Rat was there to fill his place. I’m not sure what happened to the current generation. The river is considerably cleaner than it was 50 years ago, but the most visible users now seem to be the adults fishing near the dam, or walking the paths alongside the river. 

On a bright sunny day, one could peer into the shimmering water and find the shells that lie among the rocks. Opening them might yield a pearl. One of the early businesses was the gathering of shells to be sold and made into buttons. 

Prior to 1948 there was a private island named Catabarbara Island. It was reached by way of a suspension bridge that crossed from Route 25 near the end of Keck Avenue. The man who owned the island, Bernard Lindstrom, named it after his daughters. Other families who lived on the island were the Rosenstiel and Dahlberg families.

When the park district purchased the land, including one main island and two other low-lying islands, they dredged the river to provide fill. They used it to connect the three islands and raise them above the normal high water mark. In 1951, trees were planted, and the Ashland Avenue Bridge now provides access. The original steel suspension bridge was moved to the Nature Trail to cross Blackberry Creek and is still used today.

The beauty and tranquility of the river remains a timeless gift to us. Today we can enjoy a quiet walk along the banks, dip a fishing line into the water, or just sit quietly on a rock and feel the rhythm of the river. While we ponder what the sight of that river must have meant to those weary pioneers, how many industries have come and gone from it’s banks, or how many generations of River Rats have come and gone, that old river just keeps rolling along.