Twelve thousand souls. Its prosaic Wikipedia entry notes, in the first paragraph, “It is surrounded by agricultural country.”

Or, it’s in agricultural country, not separate from it at all, but intrinsically bound to it.

Okay, enough carping. Let’s get to it. Remember, I snipped these long ago, and am seeing them the same way you, one at a time, opinion unformed.

Probably some bricks behind that facade, no? The clutter of stuff on the roof looks as if it was part of the rehab, an addition, not a preservation of the old stuff.
The Strand:
It burned in 2007; the roof collapsed. Farewell to its movie-house days. It was restored, and it’s a community center now.
That . . .
Is one long-lived and spiffy sign.
There had to be a reason it was jacked up so high, or what seems like “high” to modern eyes.
The original purpose required a basement with high ceilings, and this was cheaper than digging deeper? Can’t be it.
Looks like they were the original tenant, too.
Ah, that’s nice.
Looks like they were the original tenant, too.
“Dammit, I ordered a train station, and they sent a church.”
“Just send back the steeple and say it was damaged in shipping.”
It looks too big to be a Carnegie, somehow.
(It’s not.)
“I don’t know. People think we’re secretive enough as it is, do you really think it’s wise to-“
It’s pottery. Wedgewood pottery. The sign looks original, if restored.
This rarely happens: the original signs are left on decades after the concern has folded.

That’s because it hasn’t been decades. The store closed in 1995.

It was Blyth and Fargo, if you’re curious.

Again, it’s either the sign has been restored, or they had some astonishingly high-quality paint in those days.



We won’t look at the dull high rise in the back; housing, and typical for the era.

A meerkat version of the OUMB:


Old-time log cabin OUMB, which isn’t really M at all

That’ll do. They can’t all be 25-picture sites, and aren’t you glad they’re not?