A rare door left on the workhouse. The stairs to the left led down into a flooded basement. Kodak Portra 160/Mamiya 6.
Since the foundry went cold, I decided to turn down my color temperature… In the background, a chart showing graphite dispersion is one of the few artifacts left on the foundry floor.
There are so many pipes i the factory–I wonder how many people knew where they all went, in the days these machines operated at capacity.
I did not take the escape ladder to the surface, but I am told it pops up in the middle of a hill next to the missile silo doors.
A screen above the floor apparently shields workers from the disintegrating building.
Part of a series I am shooting of patriotic Americana left in abandoned factories.
Part of the brewing process is sterilizing the kettles, pipes and tanks all product would touch. This was done with a caustic solution. To the left is a healthy pile of asbestos where a heating tank used to stand, insulated in the carcinogenic mineral. The tank got cut apart, the asbestos stayed here.
The quality assurance labs were no doubt a busy place.
A lime auger and massive feet of the lime hopper.
To engage the air brakes on locomotives without their power being on, air hoses would be attached during repairs. Compressed air also powered many of the tools used.
Although the caves deviated little in their year-round temperature, it was common to use blocks of ice to cool beer immediately before shipment. This is the ruins of the ice chute.
Pillars painted red indicated firefighting supplies. Fire was a very common enemy of early rail facilities, and many roundhouses burned down because of a combination of dry wood, hot, fire-breathing machinery and countless oil-saturated surfaces.
A broken window looking through the First Aid Room and into the Control Room in charge of directing grain into ships. You can see one of the large conveyors on the right, clad in green. Chutes and staircases intertwine seemingly randomly through the big empty spaces.
The oldest part of this mill had a wooden roof that rotted away long ago. Slowly, rust is dulling the edge on every cog left behind.
One of my favorite signs. I imagine something like this happened when it was put up: “Wow, that’s a big sign.” “Yeah, you’re going to be putting it up in the elevator at the service door.” “Have you thought of may locking the door?” “What?” “You know, lock it so that there’s no risk, sign aside, of us going through and falling to our death.” “Shut up and just install the damn sign.”