Wall Street

I found this sign highly amusing. First of all, for the repetition of “Street St”; secondly, because “Wall Street” conjures up visions of a great banking center. One long-defunct bank does not a great banking center make.

I have no clue about this bank’s history, but, if it’s like many others on the High Plains, it went belly up in the Great Depression/Dust Bowl years. Farmers had no crops, so no one spent money with the merchants. Neither deposited anything in their local bank because they didn’t have money to deposit. As their dreams died, people fled. Grass grew on the sidewalks as communities shrank. But some of us are still here. This is our home and our choice.

Faded glory

At one time, this was the most luxurious house in our area, but neglect was about to bring it down.
Blessedly, a couple has purchased the house and is in the long process of renewing its once-considerable glory. If they had not stepped in a few years ago, the house would be in the state the motor vehicles in the foreground have reached. The abandoned vehicles make an ironic counterpoint to the house. They are probably beyond restoration, good only for parts, while the house is undergoing a resurrection of sorts.

The house shows what love can do; the vehicles show what neglect does.

The red box

We rarely can resist stopping at these native stone houses. Next to sod houses, they are the ultimate in make-do building materials, but I had never seen one with a red metal box outside. I was hoping it was a Coke machine of some type.

Instead, it was a Hamilton automatic clothes dryer, billed as “The World’s First Automatic Clothes Dryer”.

In this 1950 ad, women were advised that they could "“Shed the Badge of a Drudge” by buying a new Hamilton dryer.

This machine would have been the latest gadget in 1950, but even the Hamilton name has been put out to pasture now. All that’s left of Hamilton dryers are sheet metal and memories.

Fallen on hard times

Not all Ness City’s buildings are as well preserved as the bank and courthouse. This pair of buildings across the street from the court house is sadly deteriorating.

This lion on the roof of the building on the right has decayed so much that it is hardly possible to discern what it once was. How sad.

The building features beautiful decorations in its native limestone masonry. Most of it is in good condition.

These beautiful wrought iron embellishments surround the entrance.

The iron was wrought by Capitol Iron Works of Topeka, which is still in business today. This building is a pretty good advertisement for their workmanship. I hope someone has taken an interest in preserving at least the building on the right. If it is too far gone for preservation, I hope someone will be allowed to salvage the beautiful stonework and ironwork. Note: I have since learned that the Lion Block Building is on Kansas Preservation Alliance’s 2009 list of Endangered Historic Places.

Ness City Bank

I love architecture, especially architectural detail. We had read about Ness County Bank Building, a/k/a “The Skyscraper of the Plains”. Since we were just a few miles away this weekend, we decided to look at it. It is beautiful and looks as pristine as a 120-year-old building can be.

Since we were there on Sunday, the building was closed to the public. Someone was hosting a graduation reception there, which this lady was apparently attending.

The carvings are incredible. These are acanthus leaves on the front entrance. Note the gorgeous rounded corner detail just above the main entrance column.

The beautiful front door reflects the entrance and some of the Ness City business district. The balloon is inside.

All those years of use have rubbed the front door latch to a beautiful finish.

This carving is on the front of the stairway to the main entrance.

This carving is on the landing.

Merrill Trust Company’s logo is above the south — or Chamber of Commerce — entrance.

This supports a column at the Chamber entrance.

This is the back door handle.

This is detail from the Chamber entrance’s archway.

This is the corner of the building above the Chamber entrance. I highly commend this community for rescuing and preserving their great treasure.

Header coat rack

Several years ago, we bought an old baseboard at an architectural salvage firm. That was our planned purchase. We also bought two old headers, some drawer pulls and a couple wooden door knobs. I had seen a coat rack made from those materials and wanted one for our house. When we returned home, I found that the place I had intended to hang them wasn’t suitable.

We put everything into storage until I could decide what to do with them.

Finally, the light came on. My sister-in-love loves architecture as much as I do. And my dad could sure use a coat rack. So I made one for each of them.

Since I was making two coat racks instead of one, I needed two more knobs. Marilyn and I had salvaged a bunch of brass doorknobs from a trash pile. I had intended to use them on a door, but they didn’t work. I threw them into my father-in-law’s recycle bin and he had taken them away. But I had inadvertently kept one of the knobs. (Apparently, I should never throw anything away!) I disassembled the doorknob set, retaining only the exterior parts. The interior went into the recycling bin.

My woodworking friend Darrell suggested that I drill holes 18 inches apart so the rack could be attached to the studs. I did that first.

Then I arranged the knobs to suit me. I drilled holes for them and screwed them on. I had to use dowels to attach the brass doorknobs. These holes required a spade bit. I had never used a spade bit before, so was rather intimidated. All went well. The dowel I inserted into the doorknobs was too big to insert into the exterior lock parts. I cut the big dowel a bit short of the full length of the doorknobs' hole and glued it to the handle of an old foam paintbrush cut to size. I topped the paintbrush handle with the exterior lock parts.

Project took a couple hours and was fun to do. Hopefully I can salvage the next boards and knobs myself.

Piano Man

We stopped at an old schoolhouse Saturday. This building was solid, made from poured cement. Interior looked pretty sad, but the exterior, other than broken windows, was still in good shape. Jacqui crawled halfway into a basement window to see what was down there. I nearly had heart failure. What if she fell in? Then what would we do? Cell service was poor to nonexistent.

“I see a piano,” she said.

A piano?

“Yes, a broken piano.”

That was interesting.

I have safety rules for junking. Rule No. 1: DO NOT walk down stairs. Who knows what might be in the basement/cellar/crawl space. I might find some dead creature or live ones that I’d prefer not to encounter. And who knows what condition those steps are in? I have no desire to take a bad fall.

But our nightly lows have fallen well below freezing. Snakes and skunks should be hibernating. She shined the flashlight around the room and saw nothing other than broken chairs and plaster. And the rest of building was in amazingly-good condition. Perhaps steps would be safe?

Staircase was partially covered by a wooden door, which looked intact. Steps were covered with fallen plaster, but maybe they were passable. When I pushed up the door, I saw a dead creature on top of it, mostly noticing a set of bared teeth. Jacqui followed me. I told her to push the door tightly against the rail unless she wanted to see the set of teeth.

Piano was in horrible condition. Keyboard was entirely gone. Hammers were broken. Front of piano had disappeared. But it still maintained a certain dignity. Someone had pride in its construction, even the places that would normally be invisible.

Apparently, the local people had used this basement for entertainment. Piano sat on a little platform. Remnants of theater seating were scattered around the rest of room.

I started singing, “…Son, can you play me a memory; I’m not really sure how it goes. But it’s sad and it’s sweet and I knew it complete when I wore a younger man’s clothes … Sing us a song; you’re the Piano Man. Sing us a song tonight! ‘Cause we’re all in the mood for a melody and you’ve got us feeling all right.…”

Singing in that forlorn basement was bittersweet. Acoustics were great, but seeing the remnants of what had been a vibrant community was very sad.

Not much protection

Next wind storm could well knock over this barn. I would not walk in this structure because I’m afraid it would fall over with me inside. Not a pretty picture.

When I walked to the other side, I burst out laughing when I saw the padlocked door. A few shakes would demolish this shed; why bother to lock it? As my father-in-law says, “Only honest people are deterred by locks.”

Range on the home

Hubby and I went on an all-day outing with our friend Tonya yesterday. On our return, I saw this shed. The pattern of the roof’s shadow on the side of the building attracted me and I pulled off.

“My wife is attracted to these old buildings,” Hubby explained, “and is always having to stop to take pictures of them.” When we pulled into the drive, we found that the shed’s door was blocked by a range. Strange.

Oh, well. I’ve seen lots of strange objects in abandoned buildings.

I got out to take the pictures I desired. As I circled the building, he yelled out the window, “You could call this picture ‘Range on the Home’!”

Of course, that called for a song:

Oh, give me a range
Where the buffaloes are strange
And the deer are all deranged
Where often is heard
A tune with new words
And your ears are not safe,
No way.

Range, range on the home
Where the deer are all alone
Where often is heard
A tune with new words
And your ears are not safe,
No way.

Hubby said that this was awful doggerel, but he was laughing so hard that he could hardly read it.

We'll leave the light on for you

Abandoned houses almost always have their doors standing open. It’s as if they are lonely for the people who once inhabited them.

“Come home! I miss you.”

This one takes the invitation a bit more seriously than most. In all the abandoned buildings I’ve photographed, only this one appears to have left the lights on. House seems to be begging for company.

“We’ve left the light on for you,” it says.

Of course, that light has to be coming from the massive holes in the walls. If anyone was foolish enough to walk into that house, that person would likely not come back out unless carried out on a gurney.

The photographer wears work boots

No matter how hot it is, I wear blue jeans and work boots when I walk around old buildings to take pictures. While I try to watch my step, I’m not always able to avoid every hazard. And I can’t avoid walking through tall, scratchy weeds.

I was especially grateful for the boots Saturday.

I intended to photograph this white house on our way to Dad’s house.

I became very sleepy while driving and needed to stop. I saw another abandoned house and turned off.

While walking around this house, I felt this nail penetrate my boot sole. I was so grateful I was wearing work boots. Otherwise, I would have had a puncture wound in my foot. (Later, at the white house, I stepped on a box spring that was hidden in those tall weeds. Thank God for thickly soled boots.)

Boards came from the second floor. Nearly all the siding has fallen off that second floor. Much of it remains on the porch roof, but some has slid to the ground to catch the unwary.

So much siding has fallen off that the house reminded me of one of those mountain resort homes with the huge picture windows in front. But this house did not look out onto any mountain view. It looks out to rolling prairie.

I was very careful to stay under the porch roof as much as possible. Note the window near the roof’s edge. I definitely would not like any piece of that pile to fall on me. Maybe I should wear a hard hat, too?

I am careful always to check the soundness of any floors I might walk on. Falling through the floor would be a bad idea. If I have any doubt as to the floor’s soundness, I stay away. Floor was sound in most of the “Ozymandias house”, but the back porch felt soft when I tested it. I did not enter the back porch. My husband was glad to know this. Most of these abandoned buildings are a long way from any emergency rooms and he’d rather not have to take me to one of them.

I’d rather avoid those places myself.

Ozymandias on the High Plains

OZYMANDIAS

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter’d visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp’d on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock’d them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
— Percy Bysshe Shelley

This poem often comes to mind when I shoot pictures of old, abandoned buildings. Someone had a dream. Someone had hopes. Someone had plans for the future that included this building and the land it stands on. But something happened to those plans. And the people who owned the building and the land walked away.

What happened to those people? Why did their dreams die, their plans fail?

I will never have an answer. In the open door of an abandoned house, only questions and silence remain.

And the lone and level plains stretch far away.

Calling 'The General Lee'

While on a photo safari the other day, we saw this building on a hilltop. It looked interesting, so we went looking for a road to it.

We found the road — and a "bridge out" sign. We couldn't resist seeing what this "bridge out" looked like, so we drove around the barricade. When we saw orange flags in front of a dip in the road, we got out and walked to the bottom.

The road stopped. It was gone.



We gingerly approached the gap, being careful to stay clear of the crumbling edges. The only evidence left of the departed bridge was an exposed culvert. The area had received some heavy rains which apparently overwhelmed the culvert and took out the dirt encasing it.



Parts of the culvert had been unearthed and pushed downstream.



Where was The General Lee, The Dukes of Hazzard’s Dodge Charger, when we needed it? We could have soared right over that obstacle if we’d had that famous TV car on call. And if it came with Bo and Luke Duke, so much the better! Hubby would probably insist on Daisy Duke, though, and her presence just would not do. Guess I’ll have to pass on the Brothers Duke, but flying over the obstacle in that car would have been great.

A girl can dream, can’t she?

Alone in the endless grass

Sometimes we can get a glimpse of what life was like before modern conveniences arrived, of the isolation and back-breaking work our forefathers and foremothers endured. Such is the case at this set of abandoned buildings. The corner of the building in the foreground might have been a bunkhouse. The main house is just visible on the horizon at right.


Civilization barely intrudes on an endless sea of grass. Little topsoil is present in this area. Grass barely disguises limestone. Farming would have been an exercise in futility. Those who lived here would have raised livestock, which require lots of pasture land. Except for the buildings on the horizon, these plains dwellers would have seen no human habitation. Only the wind would have kept them company.

The wind is hard on High Plains dwellers today. What would it have been like for someone alone in the endless grass to listen to the wind's howling day after day? This house was cut from the native rock, but it couldn't have been impervious to the noise of the relentless wind.


At some point, power came to this house. Many farms and ranches were not hooked to power lines until the 1950s. How long did the family who lived here wait for the blessings of electricity and telephones? How long until manual labor was eased? How long until they could reach out and touch someone through the miracle of the telephone? The advent of power and electronic communication, no matter how primitive they seem to us now, would have been cause for great celebration.

The world had come to the lonely High Plains hilltop.

Keep your eyes open

Sometimes the best pictures are the unexpected ones.

Hubby and I went to an old barn, where I shot lots of pictures. We were about to leave when a stock tank caught my eye.

It seemed to be saying, "Take a picture of me! Take a picture of me!"

When I walked to the stock tank, I found two of them calling to me.

Calling to me for very good reason.



Then sometimes you get what you expected to find.



Good pictures start with the seeing.

Windows and doors part II

The few strands of wood hanging down from this frame make me think of strands of hair falling into the window's eyes. The sky dominates the landscape here on the High Plains. Many of the early settlers felt oppressed by the sky's vast expanse. The shed and window frame humanize the sky's scale, but only slightly.

Beneath our vast dome, we can find it easy to feel like ants on the cosmic scale. And I suppose we are. But our Heavenly Father finds us unbelievably precious.

Precious in His sight.

Precious enough to send His Son to die for us.

For those who have a relationship with His Son, Jesus Christ, the universe is a friendly place, no matter its vastness.