Forklift

It’s like a piece of paper that’s been written on and rewritten, until you can’t read what the original message was.

This little curled yellow thing is one of the last hints that this adobe building was lived in.

Workers’ lockers, strewn across Main Street, yet still out of the way.

The rust garden’s brick centerpiece contrasts the muted winter Kentucky palette.

Sprays of water kept the muddy mixture flowing across the sluices, which filtered out gold particles from gravel and dirty.

A washout two thirds of the way down the tram gave me a place to relax in the thin air.

Much of the plant depended on steam, not only for heat but for mechanical power.

Scrappers tried to take this steel pulley out of Fisher, but it proved too heavy.

These buildings were largely used as concentrators for the crushed rock, although I did spy some small mills inside these too.