Island Station, in the middle of the power house, in the middle of a thunder storm. Flapping pipe covers and sheets of ran penetrating one massive arched window and blasting through the other, as winds power through the building from the Mississippi. The sound of the thunder made every length of steel squeak under the pressure.
What looks to be a skip for repairing the dock, in the concrete steeple.
The hole in the floor, I like to joke, is a not-so-sneaky trap for the photographers creeping to get a close-up of the amazing peeling paint. I somehow escaped this snare, however, to warn the rest… perhaps you.
Looking toward the old power house, right below one of its arteries.
One of the smallest of the many elevators in Thunder Bay, this little elevator held corn for the glucose and starch lines.
The scale of the grain hoppers helps tell the story of how large Hamm’s was in its day.
The superstructure for the sea-leg skyways serves no purpose now… the offices are bricked up, too. Why?
After a short rainfall douses the mill in downtown Fergus Falls, the river next to the brick walls swells and the sounds of water overtakes the echos of the nearby bars. Reflections are on the foundation of the former distribution and rail building.
The fresh snow makes the whole complex look a lot cleaner than it actually is.