Oh dear reader, you cannot know how blissful I was tramping among this venerable graveyard, my fearless associate in tow as I clicked and sighed and nearly wept with the undiluted joy of life.
Upon this hallowed ground men trudged to work 120 years ago in Ohio's November gray in their gray rough dungarees, their lunch pails filled with cold meat pies baked by women they'd made love to just hours before.
Bricks and rails and smokestacks, craft and shape and motion. Beautiful, majestic rubble.
This place was never more alive.
And then, oh dearest reader, oh then did my eyes spy something so spectacular, it nearly paralyzed me with disbelief.
Was it full up with feral animals? Dangerous caving floorboards? A menacing villain thumping upon a peg leg?
My fearless associate and I found none of that. Mr. Myer's sturdy factory held only a host of secrets, a vial of magic and a couple of ghosts. For them, I am very thankful indeed.
Have a safe and wonderful holiday.
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Further reading: F. E. Myers and Bro. Pump and Hay Tool Works
Further viewing on Flickr
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