In the ward for the criminally insane, this door was the most-worn. Nail scratches mark the area around the peep hole, the wood is gouged everywhere from thrown chairs and hard kicks, and a ominous blood-colored stain is visible where it dripped in the second inset from the bottom. Aside from the damage, the coloring in this section was very vibrant, though it was probably little reprieve for those who had to work here.
“Crunch, crunch, crunch,” said the ground. “I know,” I replied.
A view of the hallway outside of the auditorium.
With its fresh paint, Lake Superior Elevator “I” almost looks contemporary, but it far outdates its neighbors, It replaced a wooden elevator by the same name in 1919.
The old truck scale sits in the middle of what was Nettleton Avenue Slip.
Like a grave marker, a single post remembers where Dock 3 stood on the bay.
The crumbling building barely contained the colors inside of it.
Looking across the whole milling operation from its dedicated powerhouse stretching across Eagle River.
These wide spools sit atop the abandoned tracks that lead to the train shed, which was later repurposed into a truck shed.