Bishop Hill, IL

When I was young, I was forever being reminded of my Swedish roots, and the history of a little town called Bishop Hill, IL. I wore a crown of candles for Saint Lucy’s Day, and danced around a May pole at the start of summer. The place was magical to me, filled with wildflower gardens, cute little shops, a white picket fence town square with a May Day celebration every year, quilt shops, sweet breads, and of course, a candy store that sold Swedish fish by the pound. Still today, I am drawn to every bakery with hopes for rye bread and cinnamon rolls, and every room in my home contains a homemade quilt to snuggle into. It was the magic I found in this little dying town, that filled my soul with magic, and made me want to become a writer someday.

Bishop Hill has an interesting history that I have been researching the past 10 years of my life, whenever I get a moment to spare. It was built off the idea that heaven could be found on earth, a utopia, by working together and sharing in the fruits of their labor. History has shown us that such harmony rarely exists in humans as it tends to not be in our nature, I still find the audacity to hope for it and to succeed for some time, a good effort. While the community was founded on a religious belief, the community seemed to come to its initial demise due to outside greed, the growth of the railway too far from the town and many of the men going to join the northern army in the civil war. Still, I read the story of the founder that escaped prison in Sweden dressed as a woman, then traveled on skis through the mountains to Norway, and it paints such a funny picture in my mind. I read the lengths he went through to protect his niece from a less than ideal husband, and I am astounded by the community’s supportive response. And most of all, I am taken back by the many blows they faced, and yet, they endured, to create art, fellowship, and prosper from a combined spirit of hope.

The magic of bishop hill exists in the art the community still strives to share. Hand sewn quilts, woven rugs, pottery, paintings and home-made brooms. There are natural wildflower gardens that bees fly in and out of around delicious eateries and the town square. The smell of fresh baked bread and foods that fill the soul, permeate your taste buds when you smell the air. The sounds of little old ladies chatting and filling the room with laughter combine with the calls of birds in the many trees lighten your heart and remind you of simple joys. These experiences that have filled my senses for so many years, allowed my mind to wander and make up stories in the grasses, gardens, and back rooms of the shops of Bishop Hill. A little yellow house near the center of town has always intrigued me, beckoning me to write about the magic it contains, the secrets that exist beyond the front door. A big red barn intrigues me and lets me know it is more than an antique shop, and the abandoned ballrooms calls for the dancers that once graced its floors. So many stories yet to be shared, and mysteries yet to be woven in the pages of a book based on all the magic that fills the streets of Bishop Hill.

My passion is this little town, and the fantasy novel that I have been long at work with researching and writing from the stories of the people that once lived here, and the folklore so few people know about from Scandinavian roots. I do not dare reveal all I have discovered, but I wish to complete the first of the novels this year, and work hard to have it published, Anyone who has written a novel will know the many hours, the endless notes, and the countless backstories that go into building out a story chapter by chapter. Every night I sit after my kids are in bed, and I let the charectors tell me where they would like to go, and I babble on to myself, in my office off the bedroom until my eyes close and my head hits the keyboard. I do this night and night again, because it is more than just a dream for myself and my charectors I would like to bring to life in the imaginations of others. I dream of helping the community of Bishop Hill, where my aunt had a quilt shop and family baked bread, build back the visitors and magic that it has lost over the years. The magic slumbers there, on the quite streets. It hangs in the air at the candy shop, and you can smell it on the breeze near the new bakery, calling to you. Reminding you of it’s vibrant past. I wish to answer the call and bring the magic back to a new generation for all people with a love for art, literature, food, and a feeling of community fellowship that feeds the soul. And of course, bring the charetors of my novel to life in the imaginations of new generations to come.