A few of the stalls in the older section of the roundhouse, the noon sky peeking in.
The basement of the ruined Masonic cottage.
When boiling beet juice accidentally spills from the gas-fired tanks two feet away, you better be wearing some of these, or bye-bye legs.
Unloading boats had the option to take on fuel at Taconite Harbor. This building, among other things, pumped fuel to the dock.
A bridge crosses the main street of the village; one that goes nowhere. Ambiguity intended.
In an era where smoking was ubiquitous and sexy, smoking stations had to be a part of the job, even at an explosives factory.
The top floor’s old-fashioned hospital ways were too much to pass without a photo or two… with the paint falling off the walls it was as if the building was shedding its skin in an effort to become rejuvenated or useful.
A century-old ghost sign for Royal House Flour was preserved after a building is built above and through it! Looking from the north annex elevator toward the headhouse.
One of the former sanitorium common rooms. Its interior is at the end of one of the wards and is lined with glass brick.