As sun set the car barn underwent a temperature inversion causing a dense fog to rise from the puddles where tracks once where. I opened the Yellowstone-sized doors and watched the bank roll out into downtown Mitchell.
In this old repair shop, vines fall from the rotting roof to meet mossy concrete. Even though it had been dry for days, water dripped in from the roof to make permanent puddles between workstations. It was full of color and sound and industry and nature.
Hunter climbing up to the coal tower.
Officers got houses and the honor of living near other officers. They call it Officer’s Row.
Looking at the ghost sign from a rust-locked cement conveyor that linked the silos with a packing warehouse.
Sprays of water kept the muddy mixture flowing across the sluices, which filtered out gold particles from gravel and dirty.
The machine shop today.
The Atlas D command building. As Brutalist as it gets.