A reminder to the manlift riders to get off the belt before they hit their heads on the ceiling. This is the top level of the headhouse, where dust collectors would extract most of the grain bits from the air to reduce risk of explosion.
You can see why so few products had bright packaging. If the can here was brown, you’d never see it in a dark wood cabinet.
A leftover swatch remembers the last fabric sewn here.
Miscellaneous math and strange instructions remain all across the shipment section walls. Sadly, this section likely fell into disrepair before the others.
A chalkboard halfway to the headhouse is untouched since the mill closed. It still has the cheat sheets!
Scrawls on the side of the beams of the ‘Pipe Shop;.
An automatically closing door, in case of fire or flood in the engine compartment.
I am sure even the workers had trouble remembering which pillar hid the phone. Note the “ON” written on the electrical socket, too.
In this section of the Men’s Ward, sealed by brick from lower floors, the room doors had messages painted in their inside–some motivational, some not. I would be interested to hear if anyone knows the backstory of this section. Lighting is natural; it was just after sunset.
A sign of where man met machine.
Inside the Beulah elevator were all of the original notices and notices. These are instructions for filling rail cars with flour sacks.
Portraits of great men.
A whiteboard in the quiet turbine room lays it all out… you should sell.
Kodak Tri-X 400, Leica M7. Serious enough to write across the side of the tank, but not serious enough to have a sign made.
A closeup of a flour chute.
The chalkboard in the filtering plant reminds new visitors of the last day.
Much of the signage in the mill was hand-drawn.
An ad hoc scrawl remembers some long-done project.
Postcards and snapshots in a high elevator office.
Levers and indicators to control and track the path of mine cars moving up and down the mine shaft. Note the mine depth indicators would trace paper… this is because the steel cables stretch out over time, so the line length changes with the years.
If you’re an Astra-Zenica representative and want to use this for some magazine ad, I’ll charge you a reasonable $10,000. Email me (ha)!
A closeup of the key to the Dominion (aka Government of Canada) Elevator manlift. That it needed such a guide does not inspire confidence.
Coded writing on a pillar in one of the assembly buildings.
Carvings on the back of a barracks building.
Peering into a remote office at Manitoba Wheat Pool #3. Someone left their to-do list behind.
Somewhere, Bruce Springsteen is playing while an exceedingly furry man tunes his Ford truck in the driveway of a house he built with his bare hands. This is for that person.
Part of a furnace control panel.
A scribbled note on a doorframe… lost details.
The note on the left announces that the spindles in the crates are dirty.
An unmarred chart, printed with the facility name and ready to be sent out to command.