Across the walls of the brick repair shop, near where men and machine entered Shaft No. 3, vines, pipes, and graffiti battle unknowingly for visual prominence.
A stencil instructs the first and third shifts to ask security for access. Security was out during all my visits, except one mishap where a strung-out local chased me with a truck. Having spent a decade exploring the U.P., I was not caught off guard.
Sprouts of life in center of a smashed glass block.
Some of the ruins are way off the beaten path… foundations of tank stands and pillars of buildings that never had walls or roofs.
Happy mine bacteria ‘chews’ away at one of the narrow gauge rail ties still embedded in the sand floor. The orange color is not a mistake of mine; it is the result of different minerals leeching into the water table and draining into the mine. Keep in mind that, about 100 feet above, is the Ford plant itself!
Iron becoming dirt becoming birches.