The lower floors of King Elevator are scrapped and ruined. Nearly everything that is not concrete has been destroyed. Some time ago it seems that someone built a tarp-roof hovel inside of the ground floor.
Shuttered windows on the side of one of the collapsing bonded warehouses.
Fall fog swept up from the river valley, making the building look more like it felt–a ghost, out of time and place.
Beside the shaft building are two fans on skids, indicating they were used underground.
These rails used to connect to those inside the Santiago Tunnel. Now they dangle above tailings.
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.
Standing next to the now-demolished records room.
The coal extractor swings back and forth, ripping coal from the ground and throwing it on a conveyor belt to be burned a few miles away.
The rust garden’s brick centerpiece contrasts the muted winter Kentucky palette.