Tag Archives: adventure

Road 16, Nebraska

Farmstead

The farmstead

The first time I discovered this remote farmstead, a rural oasis of decay in Western Nebraska, was in the early Spring of 2010. It was a fabulously gorgeous sun filled day with a cool zephyr. I was heading East with the intention of meeting up with my father in Iowa for our next work assignment and earlier in the day I had photographed two other equally exciting Nebraskan farmhouses near the Wyoming border. It was one of my most memorable and exhilarating days in rural exploration. It was a kind of day that one hopes to repeat.

Window

I remember the prickly jumpy sensation erupting across my skin when I caught my first glimpse of this lovely house quietly resting amongst overgrown trees and budding Spring grass. From the interstate I could easily see that the farmstead was sequestered from the living world by generously vast farm fields not yet prepared for the new growing season. I knew in my heart, my gut, my thrilled soul that something wonderful awaited for me here.

Missing woodstove

Missing woodstove

Within seconds I saw an exit and immediately turned off the interstate. I made my way toward an unusually wide dirt road, Road 16; and with my overflowing good luck the road led past the farmstead in question. Thanks to the unusual wideness of the Rd 16 I was able to park my car along edge without fearing that I would be blocking an unlikely passerby. There was no driveway or path that I could walk to farmstead leaving me with only one option, to run across the farmer’s field; it was still winter-hard and uneven from last season’s ploughing. Crossing the field was not difficult, but the rock hard furrows were not easy on the ankles.

underground storm shelter/root cellar

underground storm shelter/root cellar

To my incandescent delight the farmstead did hold many wonderful treasures for me to photograph! The house in itself was also pleasure to explore with the walls of each room displaying curiously colorful paint choices. I had expected the house to be an empty shell, but instead there were shoes, gloves, handmade furniture and a few antiquated items that I had eagerly hoped would still be there for future visits.

Rusted nails

Nails and hardware by the front door

My second visit was just a few short weeks ago, almost two and half years after the first. I had just completed a work assignment along the Western coast and was once again Eastward bound to meet up briefly with my father before taking a Midwestern detour to visit a dear friend.

To my pleasant surprise and gratefulness the house was still standing; lately it seems that many of my old haunts are quickly being demolished before I feel fully satisfied in knowing them, it’s a sad reality that comes with photographing and documenting Rural Decay. There never seems to be enough time to get what I want.

Inside is painted Haint blue

Inside is painted Haint blue

I was eager to see what had changed over the years and from the moment I stepped onto the property I could instantly see and feel the difference. There was once a pickup truck that looked to be from the late 1940’s or early 1950’s that was once parked on the edge of the property facing toward the house. I remember it being a dark forest green and rusted. All that is left from the pickup truck is a pile of broken windshield glass and four deep tire impressions in the ground. A pity, the day was a good day for a photograph.

Pickup truck

My only photo of the truck from before.

The tire impressions and broken glass

Where the pickup truck was once parked.

Inside the front living room there was previously an old black wood stove, possibly from the 1940’s. It was located beside the doorway leading into an adjacent room. Today, in the stove’s place was a pile of cream pinkish wall rubbish. I also noticed that the door was no longer hinged but removed and placed on the floor.

Woodstove

The missing woodstove

A third noticeable difference was a missing cast iron tub from the side porch. And though the tub is no longer there a faint outline of the tub along a wall faded from years of direct sunlight is the only proof that it had ever existed.

The outline of the missing tub

The outline of the missing tub

With the last few years bringing hardship to many across the country it is difficult to know for certain if the individuals who removed some of the key items for scrap metal or eBay were treasure hunters or the current property owners. When I first came the front door was closed and, respectfully, I closed it after I left. This time the front door was left open. I could be wrong, but this detail has me thinking that treasure hunters are the more likely case.

Laundry folding station and rotted stairs to second level

Laundry folding station and rotted stairs to second level

Despite the changes over the years the house still feels welcoming and new details, unnoticed last time, meet the eye. I realized during my second trip that the exterior was originally painted red, like a barn, before someone covered the thin wooden siding with a mint green and white shake siding. Some of the greenish square panels had broken off to reveal the original red color, now almost completely stripped, and were carelessly piled on the ground around the house.

The blue room

Blue room with gloves

I am curious to learn what will change in the next year or so before I return for my third visit. Will the house remain standing, will the few valueless items like a dusty ceramic cup or rotten pair of canvas shoes still exist or will it become a sanctuary for wild animals and passing squatters? Or, maybe nothing will change and I will discover another detail that had gone unnoticed.

Container

Item left in the pantry

Dusty cup

Cup left in pantry

Until then.

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Bavaria Highschool 1925

Sometime in February of 2010 I came across a small unincorporated town in central Kansas with a highschool building dating back to 1925.

I remember it being a bone chilly day when I came into town.The sky was bleak and uninteresting; and not a single person but myself seemed to be outside or maybe even in town itself. I had knocked on the doors of a few houses with the hopes of learning something about the history of this school, but no one answered. I sort of suspect that a few had ignored me and watched me from behind the curtains.

The architecture of the school was the standard for this era of American high schools and my guess is that this little village was probably the largest of little unincorporated villages within several miles and therefore became the logical choice for a more central school that could educate a growing population. My other guess is that eventually, like many other rural communities across the country, the school most likely was closed sometime between the 1960’s and 1970’s for consolidation with an even larger school in a larger nearby town. As modes of public transportation improved and the American population both swelled and shifted from rural isolation toward more city centered locations – due in part to economic and cultural changes – it became financially necessary for midsize rural towns to once again combine their resources with an even larger and more modern school buildings in larger towns that had the ability to serve to a wider territory.

I wanted to and it was possible, though unsafe, but I didn’t climb into the school at this time; nor have I had the chance or luck of returning to reshoot and explore the area further.

Peering into the interior through a broken window I could see inside was loaded with what appeared to be several decades worth of unwanted and broken property from possibly the entire town. Dusty tables, broken lamps, rusty bicycles, deflated basketballs and much more were all in view. There was barely any space to comfortably stand let alone walk around and I suspect that my presence in the little village was seen as intrusive; I don’t know if this was an accurate vibe or just my imagination. From what I could see, beyond the junk, was a large open space that was very likely a gymnasium and/or multipurpose room serving also as the cafeteria and assembly hall. I remember my old elementary school, that was also once a the high school with separate entrances labeled for boys and girls, having a similar layout and the room functioning as several rooms throughout the day.

I am still devising a plan to return and take better photographs of this high school – please don’t judge me on these two – and of several other nearby buildings on my list; and spending more time in the region talking with locals, hopefully a less chilly atmosphere. I currently have a couple of regional contacts and hopefully more will come.


Rt 66: The Fading Mother Road

For years it has been a dream of mine to explore the iconic RT 66 from start to finish, photographing the current state of decay of the many memorable landmarks in juxtaposition with the overlooked communities that still remain attached to the Mother Road.

This is not that trip, not yet at least, but I take the opportunity, whenever it is possible, to explore bits of the old highway during my travels and scout for potential locations to photograph in the future. This image was taken during one of my short excursions into San Fidel, NM.

Today San Fidel is a ghost town, but once upon a time it was thriving community along RT 66 where Mid Century American families would stop for cool refreshments, fuel and perhaps make a purchase of local pottery made by the Acoma tribe.  Now all that remain are a handful of families and a few ghostly reminders of a former life along the fading Mother Road.


Bunny Acres Ranch

Texas is loaded with hidden gems for those who are adventurous enough to turn off the main highways and explore the endless number of county dirt roads beckoning for your attention. These largely ignored roads are bumpy, narrow, twisting, dust kicking scenic joys for the wanderlust at heart. You will find yourself thrown into the heart of real Texan life, unknown communities peacefully hidden behind the subtle changes in the landscape and scrub brush. It can, at times, feel like wonderland.

I came across Bunny Acres on one such county road adventure sometime in February of 2011; thanks to a wonderful couple who were kind enough to point me in the direction of some interesting buildings they knew of. I met them through a local historian in Coleman, TX who knew that they could answer some questions I had in regards to another house in the area that I had my eyes on. The couple was more than helpful and through them I have gained an even greater appreciation and love for the homes that I found.

The little ranch house of Bunny Acres was not completely abandoned; both the property and the house were still actively in use by a local rancher as a place for storage. The house was filled with bales of hay and around the property were some loose bits of equipment, a tractor and evidence of recent tire tracks. There was no easy way into the house without causing damage, and the doors and windows were locked. Because the house was still in use I wouldn’t want to mess around inside in case the rancher should come by.

The house looked like it could be a hundred years old; perhaps a little less, but not by much. It is definitely prewar. The small size of the house combined with the oversized and oddly attached porch roof gives the home a strange whimsical wonderland like vibe, though I don’t think that was the intention of the original builder. The entire house was gently resting on several stacks of cinderblocks, a common sight found in parts of the South. I assumed at first that maybe the current homeowners had the building relocated from another location – something that I have already encountered a few times within the area. See: Dance Hall. But recently I had also learned that, due to issues with the clay soil, many people in the area would choose to rest their homes on cinderblocks as a simple solution to avoid the expensive problems that the shifting soil would have on a foundation. Because of the soil, you will rarely find older houses in the area built with a basement.

 

I didn’t spend too much time at the Bunny Acres, but the little ranch did leave its mark on my imagination. I almost would have passed by it if I were not so lucky to be looking in another direction.

Lucky me and Lucky you!


Unknown, Texas

It was a beautiful early Spring day when I found this muted little house. I was originally en route toward another abandoned home known as The Green Roof House located a short distance away; when I noticed the Unknown House quietly existing amongst its naked shrubs and dry golden grass.  The setting was like any other rural Texan home left abandoned for reasons unknown; it was isolated from its neighbors, simple in structure and – despite its close proximity to the highway –  it was barely noticeable by most who would drive by.

What I remember most about the Unknown House was the masculine vibe that seemed to silently ooze through the broken boards and missing windows. When poking my head through one of the glass less window frames for a better view of the interior, I could almost faintly detect the rustic scent of cologne mixed with sweat and dirt. It is not very often that a house comes across to me as being so decidedly masculine. Normally it is the feminine presence that I would sense in these old homes. It is usually the stentorian remains of  someone’s “feminine touch” such as the revealing layers of decorative wallpapers that would linger behind long enough for me to find and photograph.

I have wondered a few times if this building might have been used to house the unmarried men who may have worked the ranch belonging to the earlier mentioned  The Green Roof House; though nothing inside or on the property was found that could prove my theory right or wrong.

I don’t remember why at the time I chose not enter the house.  I can’t recall a feeling of unwelcome as I walked around the building and I cannot see anything in the photos that showed any real danger in entering. There was no basement to fall into nor any wasp swarms to avoid.

I left the house, undisturbed, and continued to the Green Roof House.

NOTE: The Green Roof House’s story has not been publish as of yet. 


Cement factory

Recently, when passing through the Southern half of Idaho with a friend, we both noticed the remains of a crumbling cement building covered in several decades worth of colorful graffiti. We were driving North on Interstate 15 and fortunately for us the shoulder of the road was wide enough to safely park while we had our photo adventure!

Our adventure didn’t last long, a mere 10 minutes, and we never got to climb around the ruins. The owner of the property had seen us walk by and drove up to make sure that we didn’t trespass onto his property. The cement ruins were behind a typical wire fence used by ranch owners and this particular plot of land was used for cattle.

When I saw the landowner step out of his pickup truck I quickly walked over to introduce myself and ask him about the history and purpose of the building.

He explained in a gruff manner that the ruins were once an old cement factory that had closed in the 1930’s after a fire destroyed most of the building. The building was never repaired and sometime afterwards the government decided to build the Interstate through the original property. Supposedly the government was responsible for tearing the entire building down as a part of the agreement with locals, but only removed what was necessary for the interstate itself and thus leaving the Landowner with small section of unstable remains on his cattle ranch. He was not happy about this.

Apparently he has had a long battle with people, like my friend and I, stopping to take pictures and then trespassing onto his land to take better photos. It’s real nuisance for his cattle and an insurance liability for him. Because of these very real problems for him, the local police have decided to take up a no tolerance approach and will arrest and ticket anyone who pulls over nearby the property. At least that is what the Landowner told me. He did say I could take a few pictures if I wanted, but that I was not allowed to cross the fence onto his property.

We knew from his manner that there was no chance of changing his mind. So we took our few pictures and returned to the car to continue our trip North.

I was disappointed that I didn’t get to walk around the building itself, which I found to be an interesting piece of local history definitely worth preserving, Just the same, I can completely understand the concerns and perspective of the Landowner. If I were in his place I would not be to keen to put myself at risk for a lawsuit either, nor would I want to risk the safety of the cattle.


The Perryton House

I came upon this Texan house at the end of a long quirky adventure involving two other abandoned houses in Oklahoma and picking up along the way an amiable migrating homeless man from Florida.

Located in the Texan Panhandle, just a few miles North of Perryton. This house was a simple no thrills white Ranch style building with red trim around the windows and an oversize front porch that could make any Southern grandmother with a pitcher of sweet tea envious. The most impressive feature, for me, were these colossal trees firmly planted at each corner and creating a surreal mellow oasis in the barren panhandle. I stood beneath one of the tees and was in awe that they had grown rather straight and large in an area well known for its consistent strong winds. Most of the trees in this region tend to look like they could use a V8 juice, but not these Perryton trees!

I found the front door left ajar, almost like the house was patiently waiting for me, and displaying an amusing little sticker warning that I may be carried out if I break in…  HA!

Inside I found the air to be almost too musty and stale to breathe. None of the floor was visible beneath the piles of damp moldy ceiling panels and what looked like dirt, but could also have been decomposing building materials. Walking across this room was like walking on living sponge. Each step would slowly spring back up as I moved forward.

Seconds after entering the house I turned to my left and beheld what was the most perfect photo opportunity! An ugly faded floral reclining chair juxtaposed against a damage mural of a classic Western landscape. I was not expecting to find such a great image. Immediately I leaped over the filth and crouched low to get some decent shoots. The whole scene looked like it was frozen in time, as if the owner had meant to step out for just a moment with intentions of returning to her seat for an evening of jeopardy.

This was the first interior mural that I have come across in my decay adventure. Usually I find odd paint colors or peeling layers of outdated wallpaper patterns. I imagined that someone related to the previous occupants had painted this. It felt intimate.

From the living space I eagerly walked down the hallway, trying not to trip on the ceiling panels, to see what goodies might exist in the bedrooms. Sadly there wasn’t much of anything else to see and a few doors were jammed shut.

From the window of one room I noticed a police officer had pulled over and was outside looking at my car. For a brief moment I froze and could feel my heart thumping wildly against my chest in hopes of escaping out the back while leaving me behind to be carted off to the local jail.

At first I didn’t know what to do. I have been in and out of countless abandoned houses and NEVER once been caught by the authorities. I knew I couldn’t hide inside the house and quickly decided that the best action to take was to be proactive.

I walked outside and without hesitation I put my hand out to the Officer, introduce myself and gave him a quick explanation of what I was doing before he could even speak. I figured that if I was blatantly honest and showed all my cards he would see that I was not a threat or causing any harm.

To my relief the Officer turned out to be really cool and even seemed interested in my photo series. He didn’t seem to mind that I was there but did give me a warning to be careful because the locals are not the type that would react kindly to intruders.

I asked if he knew anything about the house or who owned it, but sadly he couldn’t recall a time when there were people living here. Apparently the place has been in poor condition for many years because the owners chose to let the place fall apart rather than sell or rent.

I did not stay to  much longer after the Officer drove off, but based on his account and a Ghost Buster sticker that I had found on a  back window I am estimating that the house was abandoned at least 20-25 years ago.

About 6 months after my photo adventure, I passed by and saw that the Perryton house had been completely demolished. Nothing is left except a few of the trees along the edge of the property. Seeing this empty space was unfortunate, I had hoped to return to retake a few photos.


School Is Out

I came across this wonderful example of a prewar high school building several years ago; it wasn’t until recently that I managed to locate the owners and gain access inside. Several times I had tried to learn the identity of the owners through online searches and a visit to city hall, but had no luck. Finally I decided to stop and talk to the locals in town, and eventually one person lead me to another who lead me to another until I found someone who knew the answer to my quest. I was given all the information I needed and kindly informed that similar requests had been made before but not granted.

After leaving my business card with a member of the owner’s family and playing short game of phone tag with the owner, I found myself on the in. The owner liked the work he saw on my website and agreed to let me inside under the condition that I do not reveal the location of the building and kindly share with the owner some copies of the photos; as he is planning to renovate the building soon and would love to have a documentation of what it was like prior to renovation.

Conditions were fair enough for me. I would have given him copies anyway, as it is only a fair exchange for his generosity.

Plans were made to meet outside a week later and the owners gave me a lovely tour of the building prior to my photo shoot.

The high school was a large building constructed in 1922 and originally served only the local town population until eventually it served as the main high school for the entire county until it closed its doors in the mid 1970’s. At that time the high school students were relocated to the newer high school building, built to accommodate the growing population, and the original high school building was converted into a middle school for the next 15 years. The building has been empty since maybe 1989 and the gymnasium, built in the back in 1952, was used until the mid 1990’s.

In the school’s early years a small open room in the school’s basement served as the only space sanctioned in the surrounding Baptist County for social dances. It was hard to believe that this room was meant for social parties when it was so dingy and dark. There were no windows to this room, only a large door leading to the back. This same door was also one of my only two ways out of the building should I need to leave or escape.

When we first entered the building the owner wanted me to wait by the back door so he could check ahead for squatters. Apparently he and his girlfriend noticed a broken window the previous day and were not sure how long ago it had been broken. When they bought the school a year ago there was an issue of squatters and they wanted to check the area thoroughly before leaving me alone inside. I could appreciate that!

The first floor was where the science rooms existed. There were lecture rooms that reminded me of modern college stadium style classrooms, but much smaller in scale; pipes and electrical outlets that would have been connected to chemistry tables. There was also a dark room with attached art room. The art room still had an easel and one of the doors had old set of earphones hanging on the knob.


In the front and center area of the building existed the main stairway from the front entrance leading up to the second level. Walking up these stairs I could see the grind of thousands of previous footsteps on the edge of stone steps. The students were no longer around, but they left their mark.

It was on the second level I found the principal’s office, library and study hall room and, most excitingly, the lower access into the school theatre.  The theatre was my favorite room. I found myself walking back to it several times. There were a few rows of seats that dated back to the original 1922 seating and the rest were from the 1960’s. Some of the seats were missing, a couple of doors rested in the aisles and the light fixtures were damaged from previous destructive trespassers. A set of eerie gray curtains still hung as the stage backdrop and plenty of lovely light came in from the large windows. The theatre took up two floors, most of the back center of the building and was complete with loft seating from the third floor.

The third floor was filled with simple classrooms with some old school chairs and the access into the theatre loft seating. I found plenty of graffiti left on the chalkboards from previous students. I think the owners were going to find a way to preserve those. The chalkboards were in great shape and it was amusing to read some of the written comments from former students.

Surprisingly the damage found inside the school was minimal. There was some roof leakage in the front. The leak made the walls and floor weak, visible on both the third and second floor. In the back corner of the theatre room was another leak. Both the leaks were fixed by the current owner to prevent the damage from getting worse and areas affected will eventually be repaired. Beside the two small sections to be avoided for safety reasons I had no problems or limited access with the rest of the building.

I spent about 4-5 hours inside; taking my time and returning to several interesting spots as the natural lighting outside changed. There was one point during my day when I stopped everything and sat in the doorway of one brightly painted room just to gaze down the empty hall; taking some time to reflect in my sketchbook on where I was and what I was finding. With the exception of the pigeons and muffled sounds from the outside world, it was rather quiet inside. I felt alone in my own little world and wanted to enjoy that moment before it was time to leave. I like to think that buildings like these have their own souls and will connect with a person, such as myself, in the same way that I often feel connected with them.


The Little Sidney House

I almost missed this little Nebraskan house. It lay sequestered across a small bit of distance and some active RR tracks. If it wasn’t for a brief and lucky moment, of me glancing to my right when the road was slightly elevated, I would have continued South into Sidney, oblivious to any personal loss. Fortunate for me I often experience these lucky moments!

For a fleeting moment I had considered immediately pulling Simone, my beloved Escape, over onto the shoulder of the highway, parking, and sprinting across the tracks and grassy landscape toward what I have referred to ever since my visit as the “Little Sidney House”. Named for its close proximity to the nearby town of Sidney.

Instead of parking on the highway, I managed to spot a place to safely cross the RR tracks, Pacific Union I think, and gain access to a dirt frontage road that would lead me straight to my desired destination.

Pulling up onto a grassy path that was once the driveway, I immediately notice a discarded Christmas tree tangled with another tree and still decorated with its red ribbon. It was a depressing sight. It looked as though the holiday tree was ceremoniously tossed out the front door and forgotten about before the door had shut.

I interpreted the Christmas Tree as an indication that the house was probably recently abandoned by its previous occupants, since it was early Spring.

Inside, like so many other houses before, there existed a mess that gave me reason to suspect my earlier thoughts about when the house was abandoned may have been a bit off. There were chunks of the walls missing and scattered on the floor in pieces. Damage woodwork, and a destroyed bathroom and kitchen. In the kitchen the counter with sink was torn away from the wall and laying on its front side and the wall paper looked dated, possibly from the 1970’s. In the front of the house I saw evidence of a small fire that almost got out of control. I suspect the fire was from vandals visiting the house after the occupants abandoned it. There was no upstairs level, but there was a basement. I did not venture below because there was a dead animal at the foot of the stairs.

The house was small and the floor plan was similar to what was commonly built in the 1920’s, give or take a few years. I know the area South of the house had been settled in the late 19th century and to the North a town was established in 1913. Based in this and some basic knowledge of housing styles, I think my estimate is fairly accurate.

Out back I found a pile of rubbish with items that would make any collector of 80’s memorabila ecstactic, a Rambo thermos, a couple of those classic plastic lunch boxes that were so popular in the late 70’s and 80’s and an old plastic Polaroid camera.

Its been almost a year since I had ventured into the Little Sidney House, and I hope to one day soon make a second visit. Just to see what has changed. I am curious to know if the Christmas tree still lies entangled in the front yard, or if another visitor found the Polaroid camera and decided to make off with it.


The Gurley House

The Gurley House, once existing on the edge of a little town in Nebraska, was a two-story farmstead partially surrounded by a fence of tall, dark and thick evergreens. The somewhat isolated setting was similar to a rustic image imagined out of a book or admired in a quaint American Regionalist painting by Wyeth. The house was simple in architecture, but full of charm, and could easily wake the imagination within even the most characterless of individuals. Parked at the edge of the driveway, I took in the vision before me like it was perfect cup of tea meant to be savored by all the senses and not mindlessly gulped down like a sports drink. There was something special about this house.

From some simple research I estimate that the Gurley House was probably built between 1910 and the mid 1920’s. The town itself was founded along the railroad tracks in 1913 and the electrical outlets I found inside the house were common starting in 1923. Some of the architectural elements of the house, such as the wood trimmings and the efficient floor plan, also place it around this era. I don’t know much more than that.

I found the windows of the first floor to be completely smashed out, no surprise there, and doors were left wide open, thus making it easy for a curious traveling artist to enter and explore with her camera. Normally while exploring an abandoned place like this my first steps are timid and small until I gain sense of how sturdy my surroundings are. To my delightful surprise the floors were extremely sturdy and in fantastic condition. Even the stairs and upper level were safe to freely walk about. There was no visual evidence of wood rot that I could find. The place was a mess from crumbling plaster and previous visitors having their fun.  Walls were pitted with holes that varied in size and the wall paint peeled off in thick strips. I had never seen paint peel off the wall in a manner that imitated fabric or wallpaper. It was fascinating.

The downstairs was in possession of a few decrepit chairs, which happens to be one of my favorite subjects to photograph while exploring decaying residences, and plenty of colorful rooms.

The upstairs didn’t have much of anything to look at except for some colorful wall damage. There were a few rooms, but only one was open. The other doors were jammed shut and I could hear the sounds of panicking pigeons on the other side as I jiggled the handle. I decided to leave them be and return to the first level. At this point in my quest for Rural Decay I had never before ascended upstairs. Sometimes I would venture a few steps up to get a partial view, but mostly I would stay on the first level, as it seemed to be sturdier than the upper level. I guess I was feeling a bit brave that day, especially with the condition of the floors.

I didn’t take as many photos as I normally aim for, mostly because I was planning to return with my not quite yet possessed new Wide Angle Lens. Some of the rooms were acutely small and the use of an ultra wide-angle lens would have helped in capturing the full essence of the room.

Tragically this house no longer exists. I have passed by the little Gurley farmstead a few times since my visit last May and with each passing I quickly crane my neck in hopes of catching a glimpse of what is now an empty lot. As of yet I do not have the details of what happened. Interestingly the little stone garage and large barn are still standing which leads me to suspect an accidental burning. According to my logic, if the owner was going to tear down the main house then why not tear down the other equally dated and damaged buildings. It would save time, money and other resources to do everything at once. Just a thought.

This is the first house in my Rural Decay collection that no longer stands and a few others, I have recently learned, are to be demolished within the near future.  It is a heart breaking reality that I am sure will happen often in the future.