Greetings, Bonedale and Valley folks, from (so far) a pretty steamy summer here on the southeastern shore of what Illinois Gov. Jay Pritzker recently proclaimed as “Lake Illinois” (humorously responding to Donald Trump’s renaming the Gulf of Mexico). Nomenclature issues aside, our beach is vast, the water is beautiful and the blueberries are ripe.
These past several months I have been thinking more than ever about the importance of community in our lives, given the political climate we have been in since the beginning of the year. The nation’s social fabric feels so torn and fragile right now; it’s hard not to feel despondent, overwhelmed, powerless. Some of us supposedly will benefit taxwise from the recently passed Congressional spending bill; I should be happy, right? Hardly so, knowing that millions of the more vulnerable of our national community will face added hardships by provisions in this legislation — conveniently set to take effect after next year’s midterm elections.
We in Carbondale know how much community means in our town. We celebrate it year-round with our many events large and small, by volunteering for those events and by just saying “hi” to each other on the street.
The atmosphere is perhaps slightly different here in our beachside burg. There is a strong sense of community among its permanent residents, but there is also a large contingent of second-home owners (like ourselves) who tend to be in small enclaves during all or part of the summer (e.g., the Prairie Club, mentioned in previous Letters) and perhaps are less engaged in the larger community, since they are here only for a short time.
Then there are those part-timers who do get involved in the community. One of these was Garth Taylor. After he and his wife Sue bought and renovated a 1914 Stickley poured-concrete house about 35 years ago, he turned his attention to the several acres of land with wonderful sandy soil — ideal for gardening — that came with the house.
Friends encouraged him to build a greenhouse and then what became a series of six large gardens, each with several raised-bed plots. But he built these not just for himself; he invited friends and neighbors to use and maintain most of the plots. And thus was born a new community connection. New acquaintances were made, new friendships formed, great quantities of delicious produce grown.
Garth was a statistician by profession (based in Chicago) but was also a musician. He saw that there was a lack of opportunities for musical instruction in this area (including the public schools), and in 2012, after he retired, he and three others established the nonprofit School of American Music in nearby Three Oaks (he and the school were part of my Letter two years ago on that village). Over time it has grown from one student to well over 100, has provided scholarships and musical instruments to a great many of its students and, in 2018, began offering music programs in local elementary schools.
He was not done. A park in the township had a long-unused baseball diamond. After Garth joined the park board, he proposed that the space be transformed into a venue for concerts and other events. The ball field was dismantled, a performance platform with power outlets was installed and the park began having well-attended concerts during the summer. Work continued on other elements of the park’s renovation (e.g., ADA-compliant restrooms) and is expected to be completed soon.
Sadly, Garth won’t be here for the ribbon cutting. He died suddenly and unexpectedly in May, shocking his family and his many friends and colleagues. At a packed gathering in Three Oaks earlier this month, the wider community that he had become such an integral part of and contributed so much to had a chance to honor him with music and testimonials. One former colleague observed, “Garth struck a chord in what was needed here,” and through his persuasiveness got things done. Another noted his saying: “Declare victory and leave.”
The garden and the school will carry on without him as living legacies. And, in a fitting tribute, the performance platform (eventually with a removable canopy) that he envisioned is to be named in his honor.