A leftover swatch remembers the last fabric sewn here.
A 180-degree panorama of the first floor of the refectory. I just loved the colors; there’s something about plaster walls that retain the character of a building; they crumble when they die, which is much more graceful than drywall, which drips down into a stinking puddle that looks and smells like a blob of Elmer’s glue.
The north side of the plant is modern 60s industrial architecture, meaning massive open spaces with no personality. This mirror is the most interesting thing I could find.
Much of the mill is wooden–even the larger chutes.
In the days before a centralized fire alarm system, coded whistle blasts would warn when and where a fire broke out.
The front of the mill reads “Montana Flour Mills Company”
Holes in the roof lead to holes in the plaster and finally holes in the floor. That’s not what gutted the God from this altar, though.
An old sign directed patients and visitors back to toward the central parts of the hospital.