TECHNICAL DETAILS Sony A7ii
Zeiss Loxia 35mm f/2
Exposures Vary
FOLIO: OWANECO, ILLINOIS, 2018
Owaneco, Illinois is just down the road from my wife’s family in Christian County. On a recent trip there, we rode our bicycles down the Lincoln Prairie Trail from Taylorville to Pana and back while training for an event. And on the way south from the family’s house, the trail passes through the village of Owaneco. There is not a lot there. But the stark beauty of what remains of a small midwestern town compelled me to return and make some images. The 2010 United States Census puts Owaneco at 256 people. Median annual income is $31, 563, which is well below the County’s figure. I went down with a few family members who were also interested in shooting photos and seeing what caught my eye on our early morning ride through. We went after dinner, arriving in time for the evening golden hour and sunset.
If there are, indeed, 256 souls in Owaneco, Illinois, the large majority of them live on the northeast side of highway 29, which separates a largely residential section from the historic village center. This older part is dominated by the large grain elevators that face the highway, and provide a visual and, perhaps, mental barrier between commuter’s houses and the largely abandoned village center to the southwest. Crossing the highway between these two sectors seems like more than a metaphor. Every single building around the old village’s most prominent intersection at Main and Masonic Streets seems abandoned and unoccupied. But, like so many similar small farming crossroads across the heartland, you can imagine what it was like in times of previous prosperity. The Eaton Bros. Bank building, crested with ornate brickwork and a carved ‘1901’ in the stone nameplate is a callback to days when local agriculture must have demanded a financial presence even in a hamlet barely four blocks square. The bike trail that brought us to Owaneco is converted from railroad bed, part of the nationwide Rails to Trails initiative. But now the cargo of a few riders seems trivial compared to the grain and stock that was likely loaded on and off at the Owaneco station in an era when fifty-three foot tractor-trailers didn’t predominate the distribution of goods in rural parts. Seventy-five feet to the south of the bank, across Masonic Street, Fisher’s abattoir and meat market also stands silent, its arched brick windows and slanted front show echoes of prosperous times. In 1905 the village had its own newspaper, the Owaneco News, and in 1907 a two-story brick schoolhouse was built. In 1931 and 1932, the boy’s basketball team were county champions. But by the 1960s, the inexorable demographic and technological shifts that have shaped and re-shaped American towns and cities was impacting Owaneco as well. The school closed and was razed; students now bussed eight miles north to Taylorville. The lumber and coal store, the feed store, the barber shop and the roller rink all faded and were extinguished.
Today, Owaneco is a bedroom community with little available locally. But memories, and the carcasses of buildings built by earlier citizenry who left their marks in the street names and cemeteries of this part of the county, are still felt and visible. They tell a tale of growth and transition. My photographs are not meant to just capitalize on the decay, but to bear witness to the many lives and much toil that built similar towns and villages all throughout the nation. Such decline is more noticeable in the United States, and maybe Canada, because of the newness of our landscape and its inhabitation. In Europe, where a town founded in 1857 would be recent, such an age seems significant in comparison to the current civilization’s presence. In a European village, where buildings and people had come and gone for maybe a thousand years or more, these buildings would more likely be alive and occupied, but also not an hour’s drive from a true city.
As the sunset faded and twilight cast a cooler light across the streets, the shadows of the elevators lengthened and we drove back. I thought a lot of how to process these images, and how to cast the appropriate tone for my thoughts and what drew me to Owaneco. I hope it’s viewed as a commemoration, not a gawking. The village is empty, but still it stands.
I use my journal to share thoughts and experiences related to photography. Whether it’s the results of an unexpected shoot, a new technique I’m focused on, or perhaps a piece of gear I’ve found, the journal is my outlet for sharing with the larger photo community. Please add your comments!
Folio: Owaneco, Illinois, 2018
TECHNICAL DETAILS
Sony A7ii
Zeiss Loxia 35mm f/2
Exposures Vary
FOLIO: OWANECO, ILLINOIS, 2018
Owaneco, Illinois is just down the road from my wife’s family in Christian County. On a recent trip there, we rode our bicycles down the Lincoln Prairie Trail from Taylorville to Pana and back while training for an event. And on the way south from the family’s house, the trail passes through the village of Owaneco. There is not a lot there. But the stark beauty of what remains of a small midwestern town compelled me to return and make some images. The 2010 United States Census puts Owaneco at 256 people. Median annual income is $31, 563, which is well below the County’s figure. I went down with a few family members who were also interested in shooting photos and seeing what caught my eye on our early morning ride through. We went after dinner, arriving in time for the evening golden hour and sunset.
If there are, indeed, 256 souls in Owaneco, Illinois, the large majority of them live on the northeast side of highway 29, which separates a largely residential section from the historic village center. This older part is dominated by the large grain elevators that face the highway, and provide a visual and, perhaps, mental barrier between commuter’s houses and the largely abandoned village center to the southwest. Crossing the highway between these two sectors seems like more than a metaphor. Every single building around the old village’s most prominent intersection at Main and Masonic Streets seems abandoned and unoccupied. But, like so many similar small farming crossroads across the heartland, you can imagine what it was like in times of previous prosperity. The Eaton Bros. Bank building, crested with ornate brickwork and a carved ‘1901’ in the stone nameplate is a callback to days when local agriculture must have demanded a financial presence even in a hamlet barely four blocks square. The bike trail that brought us to Owaneco is converted from railroad bed, part of the nationwide Rails to Trails initiative. But now the cargo of a few riders seems trivial compared to the grain and stock that was likely loaded on and off at the Owaneco station in an era when fifty-three foot tractor-trailers didn’t predominate the distribution of goods in rural parts. Seventy-five feet to the south of the bank, across Masonic Street, Fisher’s abattoir and meat market also stands silent, its arched brick windows and slanted front show echoes of prosperous times. In 1905 the village had its own newspaper, the Owaneco News, and in 1907 a two-story brick schoolhouse was built. In 1931 and 1932, the boy’s basketball team were county champions. But by the 1960s, the inexorable demographic and technological shifts that have shaped and re-shaped American towns and cities was impacting Owaneco as well. The school closed and was razed; students now bussed eight miles north to Taylorville. The lumber and coal store, the feed store, the barber shop and the roller rink all faded and were extinguished.
Today, Owaneco is a bedroom community with little available locally. But memories, and the carcasses of buildings built by earlier citizenry who left their marks in the street names and cemeteries of this part of the county, are still felt and visible. They tell a tale of growth and transition. My photographs are not meant to just capitalize on the decay, but to bear witness to the many lives and much toil that built similar towns and villages all throughout the nation. Such decline is more noticeable in the United States, and maybe Canada, because of the newness of our landscape and its inhabitation. In Europe, where a town founded in 1857 would be recent, such an age seems significant in comparison to the current civilization’s presence. In a European village, where buildings and people had come and gone for maybe a thousand years or more, these buildings would more likely be alive and occupied, but also not an hour’s drive from a true city.
As the sunset faded and twilight cast a cooler light across the streets, the shadows of the elevators lengthened and we drove back. I thought a lot of how to process these images, and how to cast the appropriate tone for my thoughts and what drew me to Owaneco. I hope it’s viewed as a commemoration, not a gawking. The village is empty, but still it stands.