This side of the mill, which abuts the Great Miami River, is much older than the other side of B Street. You can tell it went through many revisions.
The last tailings on a broken conveyor belt.
Shadows of the timberwork and cribbing are cast across cracked lake ice. My footprints follow cat tracks.
A wounded flour mill, muscled into the corner to keep out of the way.
One of a few rolling workbenches to keep the thousands of pulleys, cogs, and belts working properly.
Looking across the catwalk behind the ore chutes, when they were up, and at the top of the ore chutes during loading.
The organ and bits of glass that have lost their way. Try not to see the upside-down wooden cross dangling from the stained-glass-crown on the church’s front side. Of course, it’s to keep the loose panes from falling out onto the road in wind, but at the same time…
Paperwork litters the floors of the zinc mine offices.
The front of the mill reads “Montana Flour Mills Company”