Shades of Freedom



Not trying to throw shade on this one papii.

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Potter Hill Mill of Westerly Rhode Island

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  In my extensive ventures across various businesses, churches, factories, and plants, I've encountered a plethora of remnants from bygone industrial eras. Yet, none have left as profound an impression as the sight of the leftover machinery at the former Potter Hill Mill. Nestled amidst its surroundings, these aging relics stand as silent witnesses to a vibrant industrial past, their once-potent functionality now subdued by the relentless march of time. The manufacturing equipment, once the lifeblood of cotton goods production, remains steadfast, firmly bolted to the floor, slowly succumbing to the relentless embrace of rust and decay. It's a scene frozen in time—a rare glimpse into the mechanical marvels of the 1800s, preserved in their original state, untouched and unscathed by modern interventions. As I gaze upon the weather-worn structures and rusted machinery, I'm struck by the poignant juxtaposition of past and present. The former textile mill, once a bustling hub of...
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Former West Hartford Holo-Krome Factory

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Inside the old Holo-Krome building, made up of about eleven connected blocks at the far end of Brook Street along the west side of the rail line running between New Haven and Hartford, Connecticut, there wasn’t much left. After the company’s move to Wallingford, the place was pretty much empty. Most of the old machines had already been packed up and sent to the new facility. All that remained were piles of scrap metal scattered around the floor. The building was demolished in 2018. The building itself was something to see. Its sawtooth roof, complete with skylights, was a rare sight in today’s world of modern warehouses and factories. But this building wasn’t part of the sale. Environmental concerns and the high cost of upkeep kept it off the market. What stands out in this story is what happened next. Fastenal, the company that bought Holo-Krome’s machinery and inventory, had planned to ship everything to their big factory in Minnesota. But once they got a good look at who was still w...
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The Forgotten Arsenal: Winchester Repeating Arms Company

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The chain-link fence groaned under our weight as we slipped through, pressing close to the weather-beaten brick of the former Winchester Repeating Arms factory. Above us, the ladder’s rusted rungs protested with each step, but hesitation wasn’t an option. Discovery meant confrontation, and the sprawling parking lot just beyond the fence was a minefield of potential witnesses. One stray glance from a passing driver, and the game would be over. By the time we reached the landing, the adrenaline had sharpened into focus. Cameras in hand, J and I moved deeper into the carcass of the building, where the echoes of machinery and workers had long since faded. What remained was a skeleton: hollowed-out floors, walls stripped of identity, and an almost performative emptiness. No brass casings, no faded blueprints, no ghosts of assembly lines, just the quiet resentment of a place forgotten. The July heat outside was oppressive, but inside, it pooled like a fever. Humidity clung to every surface, ...
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Acme Cotton Company Mill

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  It was one of those dusky afternoons when the sky fades to the color of old denim that J and I once again found ourselves standing outside Acme Mill, a relic of industry, timeworn and nearly cartoonish in name, conjuring images of Looney Tunes contraptions and Saturday morning chaos. The irony wasn’t lost on us. But beneath that whimsical name was a place brimming with real history, the kind that clings to the walls and lingers in the dust. We slipped in through what can only be described as a makeshift rabbit hole, a gap near a boarded-up garage door barely large enough to squeeze through. Unknown to us, there were several open doors around the property that we failed to see. We went the hard way. Inside, the air was still, stale with the scent of decaying fiber and damp timber. Light was running out fast, and shadows began creeping in with intent. The interior unfolded like the final act of a forgotten play. Piles of old product labels, some spilling from the corners, others st...
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Creative Packaging and Paper of Worcester

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  I wish I could tell you how J and I got inside. But truth be told, the memory’s gone fuzzy, like an old film reel playing just a little out of sync. What I do remember is this: the stale scent of time, the eerie silence of abandonment, and the feeling that we’d stepped through a tear in the fabric of the present. It had been years since I last set foot in Massachusetts. These days, it’s rare you’ll find me wandering anywhere in the upper Northeast. Life has a funny way of circling back, though. Once upon a time, I called this place home, three years in total, though you wouldn’t know it from how little I explored. The first year, I was carless, and Massachusetts isn’t the kind of state that makes it easy to explore on foot, especially if you’re not in Boston. By the time I bought a car and started to find my rhythm behind the wheel, the clock was already ticking down on my final months there. Funny, the timing of it all. That was 2012, the same year I should have bought some Bitc...
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