Our platform is the most extensive digital repository of the Northeast's historic, at-risk, and overlooked structures, infrastructure, New York City streets, and other locations.
Abandoned Church of Divine Flames
Get link
Facebook
X
Pinterest
Email
Other Apps
The main attraction 😍😍😍
A surprise I would never forget.
One cold morning, S and I headed across town to check out a church many Instagrammers have trodden upon when this church became known for its abandonment in the sprawling green lawns of this residential neighborhood. It seemed every day when the first image appeared of this church's unique stained glass windows everyone all of a sudden appeared within its walls within the next two weeks. Mind-boggling how one picture starts out online and all of a sudden everyone knew about it.
S and I parked the car and took a spin in front of the church only to realize that from the street level, you could see another feature of this church prominently displayed in full view (main photo above). It was the plastic/glass rods hanging from the ceiling. Finding no entrance from the front, we went around and made our way past the high chain link fence and entered the partitioned side of the walkway to the busted door lock. Making our way inside, I headed straight for the chandelier and clicked away happily until S shouted to come to take a look inside the main church hall.
👀
Inside was just the way it was even though months had passed since the last posting of this property. Everything was in unblemished condition except for bad graffiti in the balcony seating some immature scoundrel(s) decided to mark up. The red seats, in particular, show their age where many congregants sat for years and years of church service. Behind the pulpit stood the shimmering and brightly colored stained glass depicting the red-hot yellow flames smoldering bush from a green base. It was all there and more from the very first moment I saw it appear in my Instagram feed.
Center Aisle
Balcony
The Biblical Bush
On the side stood the piano forlornly waiting to be hammered into religious harmony. Behind stood a standalone church kitchen and backroom where I assumed the congregation gathered for light lunches and church dinners. Chairs and tables are piled high throughout. The only sound emanating from the room was water dripping down from somewhere. A tell-tale sign of an unmaintained roof. After clicking away with delight we headed upstairs to check out the rooms and find the way up to the balcony overflow seating. After finding it and shooting from above, we found more empty rooms, office storage, and a standalone room which must have been a church classroom due to the blackboard. Nothing of note besides the balcony existed upstairs. So we made our way down the basement level.
No sweet melodies
Center View
Front of Pulpit
Down in the basement, we found a pitch-black room large enough for a dancehall party of 100 people or more. If I remember correctly there was a disco ball or not. It has been a while since I visited this church. My memory was a bit fuzzy of what I explored down in the basement. Nothing of note and no tools to aid us in lighting the room, we made our way underneath the chandelier and clicked away at all angles until we decided our time was up and left.
Office Room
Bumping our fists heading to the car, another exploration completed in the books.
Some places pull you in not because they demand attention, but because they quietly dare you to remember. One sweltering afternoon, under the kind of heat that turns asphalt into tar and makes you rethink your footwear, J and I found ourselves wandering the overgrown path that led to Building #1 off Boston Post Road. We'd been here before, not this exact structure, but to others like it. Long-forgotten corners of America, where time has folded in on itself and memory clings to dust-covered rafters. The grass brushed against our jeans as we trudged toward the building, the humidity so thick it felt like a second skin. Outside, the world was summer in full throttle. Inside, we stepped into a different kind of atmosphere, dark, silent, cool in a way that wasn’t refreshing, just... dead. The kind of dead that had settled in long ago and made peace with itself. This building, like so many others we've explored over the years, had slipped through the cracks of time. It wasn’t aband...
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...
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...
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, ...
It was one of those quintessential New England summer days, sun-warmed, humming with the low thrum of cicadas, when we found ourselves once again at the edges of the InterRoyal site in Plainfield, Connecticut. The old factory loomed like a fossil of America’s industrial past: gutted, crumbling, but somehow still proud. We ducked beneath a tangle of undergrowth, clothes catching on brambles, and slid our sweaty frames through a yawning tear in the chain-link fence. This wasn’t our first time. A previous visit had led us down a forgotten spur of railroad track, the kind that once ferried goods and ambition in and out of this small mill town. We had wandered to the far edge of the property, then, into what remained of the site’s crown jewel, an enormous building gutted by fire, its charred skeleton exposed to the sky. Inside, two hulking Lake Erie Engineering Corporation punch presses still stood like monuments. Imposing, unmoved, rooted deep in the floorboards that had outlasted ge...
Comments
Post a Comment