Nitro in Bloom
A line of water towers stood like soldiers, saluting us as our car whizzed past…
Swap the Jeep for a 21-speed, strap on your helmet and hit the long and dusty road, spanning the distance between hills and history.
Never mind the endless rows of ruination—those gutted factories, stilted offices and gaping subterranean bunkers don’t mark a forgotten war zone—at least not on this side of the ocean. You’re in the middle of United States and its globally-feared war machine: Kansas.
This is Sunflower Ordnance Works, a name that might ring a bell with those who’ve read my earlier writing about a certain sister plant: Gopher Ordnance Works, or both of these factories’ prototype, INAAP. Gopher Ordnance (as mentioned in its own article) was a childhood haunt of mine, where I spend my after-school afternoons hiking through acres of ammunition plant ruins… so, of course, I cannot help but compare every following ammunition factory against the Minnesotan powder plant.
The difference between these two military installations, though, is acute. Gopher was never fully operational, and was largely disassembled and demolished before producing significant quantities of powder, whereas Sunflower was not only operational, but under constant expansion throughout its history.
One thing does unite these two super-factories, though, and that’s their huge scale—hence the need for bikes to truly cover ground, all 11,000 acres of it.
Sunflower Ordnance Works was established in 1941 and would eventually become, for a time, the world’s largest gunpowder and propellant plant, eventually totaling 2,296 buildings, 71 miles of railroad and 124 miles of roads. Half of the buildings were scrapped for their lumber in recent years, while others were simply razed. Sadly, only one building seems to have escaped the wrecking balls and bulldozers, one of the power plants.
Naturally, that’s what I wanted to see most…
Unloading the bikes onto the dirt roads, near the roofless concrete shells of former acid reclamation shacks, the anticipation set in. Granted, this old facility had not fared much better than the 98% razed Gopher Works, but it was new to me, and its biggest building, the power station, was not far away, judging from its smokestacks. We were peddling as fast as we could, it still seemed so distant, but soon enough we threw down our aluminum kickstands and pulled on the warped wooden door letting the smell of abandonment roll out. This was going to be fun.
As the country sent more soldiers overseas to fight for our national security, war effort at home had to keep up. Sunflower was a significant source of ammunition for not only World War II, but also the Korean and Vietnam wars. To get a better perspective on the history and its resting place, I headed to the roof.
With the sun in my eyes, I could still pick out the row of water towers that have become iconic for the plant, near the guard shack where the Sunflower sign is still installed. It no longer says “Sunflower Ordnance Works,” but instead, “Sunflower Army Ammunition Plant,” a name adopted in 1963. The roads leading from the main gate turned into a grid down and around the countryside beyond, encompassing the ghosts of buildings that have been demolished.
Strategic trenches and hills also divided the former production lines in the hopes of limiting any catastrophic chain reaction explosions.
I had my fill of the view, beautiful as the day was, and hiked back through the damp darkness of the interior, dodging pipes and valves all the way to my bike. That day I pedaled past more places than I can fully describe: offices on stilts, mysterious tunnels with the ominous ‘XXX’ explosive marking painted over their entrances, a decaying proving ground along a lonesome stretch of road.
The time had come for my adventure to end as it had for Sunflower in 1998, and on that note, like when a friend goes home at the end of the evening, Sunflower and I called it a day.
There are many places that I’ve documented whose national historical significance is questioned—Sunflower Ordnance Works is not one of those places.
Sunflower’s ruins, vast as they are, symbolize the massive domestic war effort in World War II.