Lyla Bova sat at the empty church's electric organ, playing an echoing hymn in the parish where, since the early 1700s, she and generations of her family has been married or baptized.

View a slideshow presentation about the July 4th Kaskaskia celebration.

Photos by Chuck Novara | Story by Mike Riopell | Production by JC Dart

This was how Bova spent her Fourth of July in Kaskaskia - the first capital of Illinois.

"I love this church," she said. "My whole ancestry is in this church."

Bova was born in Kaskaskia in 1928 and now lives nearby. But she still goes to town every Saturday for Mass at the Immaculate Conception Church, founded by French settlers as a mission in the 1600s.

On the morning of this year's Independence Day, before thousands watched fireworks pop over the capitol dome in Springfield, more than 200 people gathered to celebrate in the Southern Illinois community of Kaskaskia, the only town in Illinois west of the Mississippi River.

Kaskaskia became the Illinois territory capital in 1809, and later the state capital in 1818. In 1820, officials moved the capital to Vandalia, and later, a state representative named Abraham Lincoln would move it to Springfield.

But now, 2000 census figures put Kaskaskia's population at just nine people. Though some say the actual population is more like a dozen.

"There were houses all up and down the streets through here," said Linda McDonald, who was born in the town but left after the devastating 1993 flood that dominated headlines at the time.

Visitors have to drive through Missouri to get there over a creek and past a nondescript sign that says "Illinois State Line." On a weekday afternoon, one might be greeted by only silence or a wandering, friendly dog.

Most come to see the "Liberty Bell of the West." It was rung on July 4, 1778, when the town was liberated by Revolutionary War hero George Rogers Clark.

The bell is housed in a small, white building with bars on the doors. No one staffs the small historical site, but if visitors push buttons near the door, it creaks open and an electronic voice begins narrating history.

On some days, that could be the only human voice someone hears in a Kaskaskia visit, but it hasn't always been that way.

It was once a bustling center of trade and politics in the 1700s and early 1800s, and an outpost for trappers and traders. In 1881, a flood changed the course of the Mississippi river, leaving the town by itself on the Missouri side.

The town is just a small part of the 14,000 acres of Illinois west of the river that locals call Kaskaskia Island. It's bordered by the Mississippi River on one side and Missouri on the other, and about 75 people live and farm the land there.

"The farms get bigger and the people get fewer in these areas," said Emily Lyons, curator of the Randolph County Archives and Museum.

Still, people crowd the historic church every Saturday for 3:30 p.m. Mass and gather twice a year for Labor Day and July 4.

Kaskaskia Island's July 4 celebration resembled any typical one with its hot dogs, beer, high school band - and pouring rain. French and Indian war re-enactors stayed the night before, and their campfire burned nearby.

Bova sat in the church selling raffle tickets for the upcoming Labor Day get-together. And dignitaries spoke of the area's history with pride.

Rita Simonin of Belleville had never been to Kaskaskia before Wednesday, when curiosity led her there. Like others who drop by the state's first capital for the first time, she thought it would look different.

"I figured there would be more people and more businesses," Simonin said.

As technology makes genealogy easier to track, people from across the county venture to the former population center, curious to see where their ancestors came from.

"I really feel a strong need to preserve this so that people who are looking for their roots can find them," Lyons said.

She can trace her own roots back to Kaskaskia to the 1700s.

It's taken a lot to keep it going. The church was rebuilt brick-by-brick after the late 1800s flood, for example. Headstones washed up on the banks of the river years after the 1993 flood.

"It means keeping alive all the dreams and hopes of our ancestors," Lyons said.

Many of those dreams have washed away with the receding water, save the dedicated dozens who still live on and farm the land. It leaves some to wonder what future another disaster might bring.

Lyla Bova knows floods are unpredictable. Sitting in her ancestors' church that she helped rebuild, Bova knows that more work could be coming.

"The next generation may have to do the same thing," she said.

mike.riopell@lee.net / (217) 789-0865