Abandoned Places — LiveJournal

Lost places, like this shuttered resort, stand as unique objects of fascination for many reasons. Oftentimes it's because these locations have come to exist in a state contrary to their constructed roles. In this case, we may find initial captivation in the absolute silence where thousands once gathered with their families. Beyond that though, there is something arguably more profound which ties all these places together. A common thread which entwines every abandoned structure and property – Time. Human history, all history really, crests and recedes like the waterline along the shore. Popular culture rises and falls, profitability rises and falls, communities rise and fall, nations rise and fall. The waters of time endlessly rise and fall. And after the tide has retreated these places remain in the wake, like cast-off shells upon a beach.

Some time after our arrival a large storm began to stir at the outskirts of the valley. It came on slowly at first, as the sunny day gradually greyed over. Eventually though, the storm gathered force and with it a purple-hued darkness which stood as a wall along the edge of the valley. There it remained though, held at bay by strong updrafts which perpetually carry through the basin. Frustrated it loudly thundered at the edge of the ridges around us, forever tumbling upon itself without gaining ground. At times it looked not unlike a great obsidian wave breaking upon a bluff. Occasionally its cries shook the walls of the old resort, but even though the outlying mountains were ringed with near black, above us was never more than a haze of light grey. The air became cool, as the warmth was sucked away by the storm-front, but we remained dry at the center of the turmoil around us. As it tends to be with storms of this force though, the events were short lived. In little time the thundering from the mountains fell silent, and the grey of the sky dissolved back to blue. What just moments ago was all-encompassing, now may as well have never existed at all. Much like the decaying resort we had taken shelter within.

The original buildings on these grounds opened to the public in 1903, with much of what is currently standing dating from the 1950s and '60s, including the distinctive tower building which rises high above all else. By the time the resort was shuttered it had served the region for over a century. Considering the long lifespan of the old resort makes the grounds today all the more sombre. Generations of families vacationed here. Parents bringing their children, just as their own parents had brought them. There is no doubt that the silence which now embraces this property is saturated with memories of those who knew it in far happier times than these.

The original buildings on these grounds opened to the public in 1903, with much of what is currently standing dating from the 1950s and '60s, including the distinctive tower building which rises high above all else. By the time the resort was shuttered it had served the region for over a century. Considering the long lifespan of the old resort makes the grounds today all the more sombre. Generations of families vacationed here. Parents bringing their children, just as their own parents had brought them. There is no doubt that the silence which now embraces this property is saturated with memories of those who knew it in far happier times than these.

Some places cry out their stories, their histories, to those who visit. You may have felt this for yourself when visiting a site of some significance. Places steeped with history tend to exude it in a way that isn't easily explained. It's as if simply laying your hand upon the cold walls of an old building helps you to better understand it. Perhaps it's simply human instinct to reach out and touch something you wish to learn more about. A tactile sense somehow linked to our minds, left over from eons past. A sensibility which we have collectively evolved beyond, but endures nonetheless. That voice was absent here.

Throughout all these halls, quarters, and common spaces, no grand proclamations of the past were to be found. All that remained were the low moans of a tired building, pitch shadows, and a deep-seated rot. Numerous items remained from the heydays of the resort, but coming upon those remnants felt less like glimpsing cherished mementos, and more like one was rummaging through the possessions of a deceased person. As we toured the grounds it seemed as if this is a place was not only utterly given up on, but that it had also given up.

In the end though, it's reasonable to think that this place never had a voice to begin with, not a singular one anyway. This resort lived as a hub for others to create their own stories and memories within its walls, and by that accord the last of its life went from this property the moment the final guest checked out nearly a decade ago.

In these woods lie the ruins of a kingdom long fallen. Dotted between the trees can be found battle-worn fragments of the domain which once claimed these lands. They stand sparsely in number and frail in form,  reduced to nothing more than gnarled echoes of what they once were. Time has laid upon these lands an unrelenting siege, and through it, a new kingdom has arisen. One of trees and briar. In a previous era, under a  much different reign, things were brighter here. There was a life well beyond that of the woodland animals which now roam these parts. A home to fables and legends, a kingdom built upon a bedrock of fantasy. It was called the Enchanted Forest.

Opened in 1955, this bygone theme-park once sought to offer a travel destination to families seeking something a bit more fanciful. Claiming a  tract of property in Ellicott City, Maryland, a vibrant castle arose surrounded by rides and attractions based upon nursery rhymes and fairy-tales, a dominion which eventually spread out over 50 acres. At the peak of its popularity, this province of whimsy saw some 300,000  visitors passing through the castle gates every summer.

We ourselves never knew this past existence, as our visit to these grounds took place long after the fall. For decades the property had sat without rule, save for that of nature. The few holdouts which remained had long lost their colors. Faded and peeling they stood less as relics and more as somber reminders of far better times than these. The canopy of the now-wild forest had grown to shadow much of the old park,  replacing the light with dappled darkness. A lagoon, once clear and flowing now sat motionless, covered in a thick layer of emerald algae.  The clamor of life has all but ceased in these woods, leaving in its stead a fierce nothingness that is both nowhere and all-surrounding.  Still, at the center of all this Cinderella's castle still stood.  Broken, distorted, and draped in ivy.

Though the forest may have won the day in Ellicott City, overrunning  what remained of the old park and returning it to the earth, it could  not claim victory over the spirit of the Enchanted Forest - Beginning in  2005 preservation efforts began on the besieged property, spearheaded  by the 'Enchanted Forest Preservation Society', who ventured in to save  and restore whatever they could reclaim from the devastated kingdom.  Today the Enchanted Forest lives on, standing in renewed magnificence off-site at 'Clark's Elioak Farm',  which is located close to where the original park once stood. Many of the rescued pieces have been fully restored, and are on display for a  new generation of families to enjoy. Whatever did remain on the original grounds were razed in 2015.

Is this community still kicking?
I tried to post here (on LJ in general) a few times throughout 2018 and each time it either crashed out completely, never loaded, or erased the entry prior toposting, so I gave up for a while.
Until now anyway.

So the place I'm sharing today is a beautiful, and honetsly quite foreboding, public school building which dates from 1927. I'm trying out the new (to me) LJ editor, so please bear with me here...

Aphotic Academia

Rows of rusting lockers line a corridor draped by shadow so deep you feel as if you could reach out and lay your hands upon it. Above, anemic skies distort and bend upon themselves as a light mist begins to fall. In through some unseen window enters a steady flow of cold spring air, it carries with it the bitter aroma of scorched plastic. Sirens wail continuously from some far off place, muffled by the brick exterior of the building to little more than a repetitive and endless drone. A background noise which carried through every corridor of the three-story school.

I'm not sure if this community even exists anymore, so I feel like I'm posting in a ghost town—how apropos!

I found this creepy video tour of the abandoned amusement park, Holyland, USA; and I thought it would be a good place to post it.

 Hello all! Hope everyone has had a safe summer thus far. I see LJ has once again changed the post editor since my last time here. It's definetly improved, but unfortunately I am still unable to simply copy-paste the HTML from our website entry into the entry form like I used to back in the old days. So, like last time, what I will do is share our writing and a selection of images. I will place a button at  the bottom of this post that brings you to our website, so that those  interested may see the entry in its entirety. Now, on to the post proper...

It was an unusual day - When filming, it's not often we find ourselves in a group setting, and it's even less frequent that we aren't the ones tasked with driving. So, from the onset this was a unique venture for us. It was an enjoyable change of pace for us, as we were in good company, and enjoyed the downtime lazily gazing out from the windows of the SUV as we made our journey. Eventually our ride made a final turn and slowly proceeded down the rough pavement of Newark Street, creeping to a stop alongside a curb. “We're here”, said the driver as he put the vehicle into park and killed the ignition. We paused as we exited the truck into the warm summer sun, taking a moment to stare at the plum of greenery across the street.  A small forest in the middle of Newark, and within it lie the old city jail.

Though decades-abandoned today, the Newark Street Jail enjoyed a long history as the city jail to Newark, New Jersey. A history which begins with its construction along the bank of the then newly completed Morris Canal in 1837, a canal which no longer exists today. This prison was built to replace the former city jail, which had burnt to the ground in the summer of 1835, any remains of which are now sealed away beneath what is today Newark's Grace Episcopal Church. The Newark Street Jail was a standalone prison, and is several blocks removed from the courthouse, whereas the previous building had housed both functions.

Built of  brick and local brownstone, the initial structure was little more than a two-story square, attached to a single wing of cells, and did not see further renovation until the 1890s when several additions were made to the base structure.  1907 saw the largest expansion to jail, with 112 new cells added and all the older blocks equipped with running water and toilets.  The aging prison continued to see service as a jail until 1970, when it was abandoned in favor of a newer and larger facility.  By this point it had expanded to contain more than 300 cells within its stone walls. For a short time after closing as a jail the complex served to house the Essex County Narcotics Bureau. When they relocated in 1989 the jail was left without use.

Our first steps on the property were not unlike the beginnings of a nature hike - We sought out a foot path in the woods and followed it onward. These urban woods are shallow though, a natural facade of twisting forms which hides away man-made geometry. Within minutes we were inside, and the transition was jolting. Even after one's eyes adjust, it took a few moments for the mind to comprehend where you stand. We had entered beneath a wall of cell blocks several stories high. Far above, light spilled through holes in the rot-pocked wooden ceiling.  Where it reached the floor, it shimmered off embossed decorative ceiling panels that had let loose their moorings.  Their brothers that remained above were tenuously suspended, like rust-filigreed guillotine blades over our heads.

One often takes for granted that cities are sterile places, as if their souls are made of asphalt and brick, and thick concrete blood will spill forth to clot any wound.  In truth though, the urban landscape is just a thin skin over something much more primal, and without constant maintenance, nature is quick to reclaim what has been taken.  The Newark Street Jail could serve as a textbook illustration of this principle at work. In the subsequent decades of disuse the jail has seen both tremendous decay and verdant new growth. Light catches and dances through the limbs of the trees, throwing silhouettes of color and shadow down the cavernous cell blocks. Cell blocks which, upon closer examination, proved to be far from vacant. As it would turn out, our time within the jail proved far more social than we had anticipated. We crossed paths with many others during our few hours inside, some were “just passing through” while others clearly resided here, their homes made within the old cells. It was evident from the personal effects strewn about that many more people called the old jail home than just those we had met that day.

Perhaps the most visually arresting sights of the jail awaited in the wings. To one side was wall of cells, again four stories high, the opposite wall was once home to a series of tall, arched windows.  Their exteriors were steel framed and barred to prevent any possibility of escape, but the inner faces were constructed of a grid of glass panels in a wooden frame.  Time has taken little toll on the steel or brick, but the wooden frames had fared badly - When the wood no longer had the strength to hold the massive window in the wall, it gave way, but most did not fall far. Nearly every window had tipped backward in its frame to rest against the highest tier of cells, forming a series of archways from which dangle countless panes of glass.  The floor is littered with the remains of those that have already fallen, and the sunlight piercing the ceiling reveals a subtle beauty here, as it is captured and refracted in every direction by these fixed, dangling, and shattered squares.

Exiting the building we once again found ourselves in the forest, and though brief, it's impact is nonetheless intense as you pass through and back to the streets of Newark. Unfortunately our first sight upon re-entering the city was that of a police car parked next to the SUV we had arrived in. With our heads hung low in defeat we slowly made our way to the cruiser. When we reached the car two officers got out to greet us. They weren't here about our trespassing, rather they had just gotten on the scene in regards to someone having broken into our ride. Glass was everywhere, and on the passenger seat lay a large chunk of cement, which was obviously the culprits 'tool' of entry. All of our belongings were safely stowed in the bags we were carrying upon our backs all day, but the others we were with didn't fair so luckily. Asking if we should make a report one of the officers replied “You can, but I doubt much will come of it.”, noting that this was far from an unusual occurrence. In the end we passed on conducting any official paperwork, and decided to part ways with Newark as quickly as possible.

It was an unusual day.