Hutsonville Attractions? Yeah, that sounds almost like a marketing campaign, but I promise there's more than just a sign on the highway. The city, which was created in 1852 as a small trading post on the banks of the Wabash River, bears the name of the early pioneer John Hutson – a type that probably had more to do with wood columns than with urban planning. Today, Hutsonville is located in the township of the same name, embedded in the rural Crawford County, and that's what you feel right now when you drive from Indianapolis to I‐74 and then State Road 33 – no luxury, but a real road trip feeling.
Honestly, the historical flair here is not filtered by Instagram, but comes from real brick houses that last for over a century. I don't quite understand the hype about the annual Riverfest eggs, but the small café on the river I arrive every morning serves the best black coffee I ever had – no joke. And while most visitors ask for the “Hutsonville Museum” (that’s not true, but that’s the beauty of small towns: no crowded halls, for real conversations with the locals), I find the old barns on the outskirts much more fascinating. They tell of a time when the cattle had more space than the cars, and this is for me the real heart of this area.
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The first place I could not miss was that Wabash River – the real backbone of Hutsonville, which winds like a gray hose through the landscape. I spent a weekend with a kayaking that had more gaps than an old Swiss cheese, and yet the water was surprisingly clear, at least until I heard the first paddle beats. When you arrive by car, there is a short stop at the small parking lot on Highway 33; that is usually easy, except on Sundays when the Ohio anglers show up with their huge life jackets and turn the whole field into a lake of plastic bottles.
Just a couple of miles away Hutsonville Dam, a place I always underestimate, because he doesn't just advertise with luminaries. I caught a pike there for the first time – a fish that was so big that I almost thought he was a small alligator. access is a narrow gravel path leading to a rustic wooden bridge; Parking is a bit of a gambling because the small field is quickly full when the weather is good. Nevertheless, if you hear the quiet water plunder, you almost forget that you are actually in Illinois and not in a tropical paradise.
A short trip to Robinson, about 15 miles east, leads you to Crawford County Historical Museum. I must admit, I was sceptical – a museum in a small town sounds like dusty exhibitions and boring tables. But the collection of old agricultural machinery, an original 1902 tractor and a few yellowed photographs from the time when the railway was the only fast means of transport, have completely surprised me. The building itself is a rebuilt old school house that you can park behind the museum without great effort; the only problem is that the sign “museum” is sometimes covered by an advertising sign for the local diner.
Right next to the museum is the impressive Crawford County Courthouse, a classicist building dating back to 1895, which looks as if it had chosen a Hollywood director for a Western film. I took a lead there with a retired judge who told me that the court building used to serve as a meeting place for political rally – a bit like a local club, just with more robes. Parking is a bit tricky, because the street around the town hall hardly leaves space for cars, but a short walk from a few blocks from the museum is enough.
If you're ready to cross the border, it's worth a trip to Wabash River State Park in Indiana, about 30 miles north. I spent a few hours on the trails that lead through dense forests and soft hills – a real contrast to the flat fields of Illinois. The park is well signposted, the visitor center has a small parking lot, which is mostly free, except during the weekends when families arrive from the whole Middle West. The view from the view tower over the river is an image that I repeat again and again in my head when I am stuck in the dam on the I‐70.
Another highlight I can hardly expect every year is the Crawford County Fairgrounds in Robinson, where the traditional County Fair takes place in August. I've eaten more than once a piece of corn that was so sweet that I almost thought it was from a gourmet shop. The Fair is a collection of cattle shows, carousels and a small rumble that has more charm than any big city. Parking is a huge parking lot that almost always offers enough space – unless you are late and have to park between the crowded food trucks.
Last but not least, Old Jail Museum not forget a small but fine prison from the early 20th Century that now serves as a museum. I made a lead there with a former prison guard who told me that the cells still make the same creeping noise when opening the door – a sound that reminds me every time freedom is not self-evident. Access is via a narrow path behind the town hall, parking is usually easy because only a few visitors really find the museum.
So those looking for an authentic piece of Middle West find a colourful mix of nature, history and local culture in and around Hutsonville – all without the usual tourist crowds. The Hutsonville Attractions offer enough variety to surprise even the most brewed traveler, and enough charm to let him return again and again.
I have to admit that my favorite place in Hutsonville is not some hipest café, but the venerable one. Hutsonville Bridge – a rusty, but somehow majestic steel carrier that has been running over the Wabash River since 1911. If you're standing there for the first time, you almost feel like a time traveler who accidentally landed in a Western film. I once made a picnic there, while a fisherman, beside me, swung loudly over the “good old times”; that was almost a local cultural shock because I thought this was a quiet place to relax. Parking is usually a Klacks as long as you don't arrive on Saturday night – then the small car park turns into a battlefield of caravans and barbecue smell.
A short walk downstream leads you to Wabash River itself, the real heart of the Hutsonville Attractions. Here, if you're lucky, you can see some carp at the fishing or just watch the water that's sloping past the shores. I once tried to rent a canoe there – the offer was rather a “leih-canu for the emergency”, so the adventure was more of an improvised paddle attempt from the shore. Nevertheless, the noise of the river is really soothing, and that's something you don't find in every little town.
Right next to the river lies the Hutsonville Community Park, a place that has more charm than one would suspect at first sight. The playgrounds are not modern, but that makes them somehow authentic; the slides still squeak like from another era. I started a spontaneous baseball game with a few locals there – they explained the rules to me while they complained about the weather that is supposed to be too hot for a game. The car park (yes, there is one) is small but sufficient as long as you do not come to high season when the whole village makes a picnic there.
A little further in the center you will find the Hutsonville Public Library, a tiny building that houses more books than you could read in a day. I discovered an old photo album there, the history of the village to the early 20th. Century documented – a real treasure for historical lovers. The librarian, Ms. Miller, even offered me a coffee because she said I'd look like I could use a little bit of reconciliation. This is the small but fine example of how every visitor is almost a friend here.
If you need a little more “fuel” for your curiosity, you should Hutsonville Fire Department Museum visit. There are old fire trucks that look like they came directly from a movie of 1950, and a few dusty helmets that tell more stories than some people here. I met a former fireman there who told me that the museum is actually operated by volunteers who sacrifice their spare time to keep history alive. This is kind of touching, and at the same time a bit sad because you realize that the village is not exactly in the upswing.
A last but not least important stop is that Hutsonville Cemeterya cemetery that reveals more about the soul of the place than any tourist brochure. The tombstones are simple, some even faint, but this gives the place an almost poetic atmosphere. I discovered an old, handwritten inscription there, which speaks of a pioneer who entered the country in 1835 – a small indication that there is more history here than you suspect at first glance. Parking is a bit tricky here because you have to go between the trees, but that makes the visit a little adventure.
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