Looking through the washer that is the first stop for the dredgings.
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A winding flue between the ovens for Furnace 6, capped with sketchy catwalks.
Approaching the tunnel I heard about for so long…
One of the early automated painting booths in the paint plant line.
When I looked out of the old mill, I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell was holding it all up.
The only way to get to the second floor–since demolition crews punched-out the staircases and ladders leading upwards–was to climb this elevator shaft. In the lower-left corner is a blower for the foundry furnaces.
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.
The primitive chair caught the falling plaster.
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.
Frankie and Quarantine pictured.