The oldest part of this mill had a wooden roof that rotted away long ago. Slowly, rust is dulling the edge on every cog left behind.
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...based on the tags: black&white, cables, gears, grimy, hoses, rusty, valves...
A little cloud passes over the Five-Stack powerplant ruins, like a puff of smoke.
The huge snowfalls of 2011 brought new collapses across the buildings.
A few of the stalls in the older section of the roundhouse, the noon sky peeking in.
The elevator is stuck between floors.
There were three main stockhouses, two of which still exist, that are filled with tanks like these in addition to Fermentation. Each tank is the size of the city bus and few are left after the 2008-2009 scrapings.
It was obvious which parts of the hospital were the newest, by their relative utter self destruction. It’s comforting to the Cubical Dwellers, I think, to know that as soon as the power and plumbing are disconnected that all hell will break loose and dismantle their suspended ceilings, drywall boxes and fluorescent suns in no time at all.
Looking at the rear of the mill, through dead vines and barbed wire.
Designed by Taylor himself, the spring house was the site of many parties in its day. You can imagine sipping fresh-tapped whiskey here with your Sunday clothes with soft music and the sounds of the river mixing in the background. Note the key-hole-shaped spring hole.
The piano must have been a nice distraction; there is very little to do in Roberts.