Winkel, Illinois

This afternoon, I drove from Peoria down to Springfield. It’s about an hour’s drive, south.

I had planned a little excursion along the way.

You see, I live in Chicago which is the third largest city in the country. Also, I live right in the middle of downtown Chicago which has just about the densest population in the country.

So, I thought that a really unique thing to do would be to visit the smallest, most remote, town that I could find in Illinois.

I looked on the map and found none other than Winkel, Illinois. It was at the end of an un-numbered road that was off another small road that was off another small road off of Interstate 155.

I had to visit Winkel, Illinois. Had to.

I followed the roads along the map, went through a small town, turned off onto another road that undulated across dried cornfields and turned onto a smaller road. . .

. . . and, finally, there was a little sign that said Winkel Road.

But there was no Winkel that I could see. Only a couple of houses, which, I suppose, was all that's left of Winkel.

Not wanting to take a photo of someone’s house, I stopped the car, got out and snapped a photo of this little barn in Winkel, Illinois.

Where I live in downtown Chicago, there is the constant noise of the city; sirens going by, car horns honking, the EL rumbling across the bridge.

The silence in Winkel was astounding. The dried corn had been recently mowed so there wasn’t even the sound of wind blowing across the field.

I wonder what happened to Winkel.

How was it founded?
Who founded it?
How did it get its beginnings?

Does anyone long to return to Winkel, Illinois? I was reminded of that sweet movie called Trip to Bountiful. Winkel reminded me a lot of it.

It’s ironic that I live in such a stimulating environment like downtown Chicago, but was really captivated by Winkel, Illinois – a place that’s hardly even there.