Night grew close; we were only there for about 45 minutes of an autumn’s dusk night. Chris was once again disappointed that all the nozzles to the fire hoses had been snatched, probably sold off to whomever. I do intend on spending more time in this location before it is too late. A flashlight would help next time.

See a panorama of the hospital boat. I’m not sure if it does the thing justice; it kind of looks like a dirty toy.

Calmly bobbing in the D&H Canal, anchored to the shore of a city that once used to be the capital of New York State, the Floating Hospital, slowly but surely, is dismantled piece by piece. Alongside the massive 104-foot, 4-deck boat is a scrap yard where the structure has begun to meet its inevitable fate. Nearly all of the boat has been wiped clean of its accessories – no meds, no desks, no beds, nada.

The structure was constructed in 1972, a much younger year than we believed based on the design of the surplus of kitschy chairs strewn about. It was decommissioned in 1999 only arriving in Kingston several months ago.

Quartets of chairs everywhere. Tempted, we were, to appropriate.

I created a panoramic of the control room featured above. Check it out here. I think I like it better, but once again, I must express my dismay for the limitations of this lovely theme. Grumble, grumble. It’s a love/hate relationship.

More to come.

On our journey Northwest to Cooperstown, we meandered through a few quiet, desolate towns in upstate New York to explore a forgotten factory believed to have manufactured cement in its prime. We crept through dusty, fallen walls that led through a maze of buildings and shafts. Water made its way through the deteriorating construction creating natural waterfalls throughout the plant.

Weary, but still standing, the presence of destructive passersby was evident. It seemed that the untold stories were not so much from the time when the factory was active, but whatever has transpired since its downturn. The forsaken structure gave way to many visual delights, most especially lighting.

To gain access to the property, we had to make our way around the seemingly never-ending freight train that spanned a mile at least. Crawling underneath spurred a natural instinct to be fearful; what if it moved?! Being so vast, it appeared there would be plenty of time to escape. Since I can remember, I’ve always plotted my getaway in imagined catastrophic situations.

As for the introductory image, was not really clear on the intention of the building. What looked like a church was entirely boarded up with no semblance of a museum or recent activity. Something was curiously cryptic about its message, and exercise in poor spelling.