I wonder if these windows were bricked after the 1950 explosion with the hopes that, if another silos blew, the people in this office would be better protected.
This old Jetta did more offroading than your average lifted tinted loud-exhaust pickup.
In this ghost town where there were brick, wooden, and dirt-brick buildings, the latter fared the best by far.
Ava on an upper catwalk.
There’s no way an explorer, much less a choir, could stand here now. Since this picture was taken the roof has collapsed onto the loft.
A look straight down into the chutes were taconite pellets would dump into the dock hoppers. Rebar was a safety measure to keep workers from being buried alive, were they to slip into the holes.
One of the cupola air intakes, rattled loose by the demolition downstairs, hangs stranded on the second floor. You can see that the floor I’m standing on in this picture used to extend all the way to the right wall. The blue paint on the wall made the climb absolutely worth it.
Looking down the Gilman-Belden tram.
In an era where smoking was ubiquitous and sexy, smoking stations had to be a part of the job, even at an explosives factory.