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Photo courtesy of the Winchester Tax Office Pins in the Brook: The Last Ruins of the Union Pin Company J and I came at it through the trees. No path, just tall standing trees and the kind of undergrowth that swats at your shins and grabs your laces, until the canopy thinned and we found what was left. A turbine, tall and rusted, rising out of the woods beside a brook in Winsted, Connecticut. A small generator sat on top of it, also rusted, also still. Beside that, set back from the tree line and facing the residential houses across Lake Street, a sealed and boarded building held its ground. It was August 2019, midday, the kind of heat that slows everything down. We photographed the turbine carefully, then picked our way downstream along the slippery rocks of the brook that fed toward the Mad River past Boyd Street. What J never mentioned, and what I never thought to look for, was the hydropower outlet tucked behind the thick trees just off the path we'd taken. And neither of us eve...
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Former Lionetti Oil
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In a corner of the city where history is often paved over, the elusive site bore a name that seemed to vanish from the annals of time. My research, though tenacious, yielded little more than the faint echo of its past. Diving deeper, I stumbled across a similarly named enterprise, but a trail of online records confirmed there was no connection.
The site in question was once a pulsating heart of industry. From the 1940s, it functioned as a hub for heating fuel oil transfer, its machines humming and workers bustling until it ceased operations in 1993. Yet, it wasn’t just the hum of machinery that it left behind. The ground bore the scars of its past, tainted with petroleum hydrocarbons and semi-volatile organic compounds. Remarkably, grant funds were once mobilized to cleanse this wounded land, leading to the removal of 10 above-ground storage tanks and sparking community engagement initiatives.
Fast-forward to 2018, when my boots crunched the gravel of this forsaken property. The once-guarding metal fence lay defeated, allowing me unhindered access. The land told tales of a massive cleanup; where large tanks once stood, now lay evidence of their removal, and mounds of discarded tires, construction debris, and recyclable scrap metal littered the expanse. On an earlier reconnaissance, the site wasn't as welcoming. I had scoured for entry points, only to be denied and redirected to a more promising oil facility nearby. Two vast holding areas, reminiscent of an aggregate and cement company, stood hollow. Their walls, which once cradled five metal tanks, now bore the ghostly imprints of the structures. The lone remnant of its industrious past was the transfer station office building – a shell filled with the discarded remnants of its last inhabitants and the occasional trespasser. Nature, in its reclaiming glory, sent tendrils of green vines to cloak its windows, adding an eeriness to its desolation.
However, the land has not been free from strife. After the tanks came down, its remote location, shadowed by the industrial veil of the McCarter highway, made it a hotspot for continued illegal dumping, further scarring this piece of history.
This small fuel oil transfer station, nestled along the once-bustling industrial belt of Riverside Avenue by the Passaic River, met an unceremonious end. But as cities do, it evolved. By 2020, the property found itself cradled in new hands. Sold for a mere dollar, it transitioned from the City of Newark to Silva Waterfront LLC. Today, it stands renewed, housing an aggregate material enterprise.
You can witness the site's metamorphosis during its demolition phase below.
The site after partial demolition.
The site serves as a poignant reminder that while the world moves on, traces of the past linger, whispering tales to those who dare to listen.
Kings Park and the Education of an Explorer Every pursuit has a place where beginners go first. Skateboarders have their parking lots and curbs. Climbers have their local crags. And if you are just finding your way into the world of urban exploration on Long Island, sooner or later someone points you toward Kings Park. The former Kings Park Psychiatric Center has become, over the years, something like a finishing school for people who don't yet know they're enrolled. Getting onto the grounds is straightforward. Finding a way inside the remaining buildings, if you know where to look, is not much harder. Which is exactly why the Parks Police have written thousands of trespassing tickets here in a single calendar year, why security visibly tightens every Halloween, and why local photography groups have been known to show up with large, enthusiastic crowds of people who want to take what they call "creepy" photos of old hospital asylums. The place attracts everyone, which...
You’ve got to move when the chance is right. That’s something I keep telling myself—but just as often, I forget it. Or ignore it. And then I end up learning the same lesson all over again. It happened on a quiet afternoon when I pulled up to the old Horsman Doll factory. The place has long been abandoned, but it still holds stories—ones I try to capture through my lens. The main gate was slightly ajar. Not wide open, but just enough for me to slip through with my gear. It was one of those rare opportunities. But across the street, half-hidden behind a rundown house, a group of men sat drinking and shouting over each other. The kind of scene you don't want to get caught up in—especially alone, carrying expensive camera equipment. I hesitated. I debated. I bailed. My gut told me to walk away, so I did. I figured I could find another way in. I circled the block, hoping for a back entrance or even a broken window low enough to climb through. I found one window that looked possible—bu...
148" Trim Inverformer Paper Machine for Multi-Ply Recycled Boxboard ♻️ Former Fusion Paperboard Plant Series 🌿 Exploring the abandoned Fusion Paperboard recycling facility — from towering paper machinery and hydrapulpers to sludge ponds and the wastewater treatment plant that once supported sustainable recycled paperboard production. 🏭 Part 1 — First Exploration & Main Paper Machine ♻️ Part 2 — Hydrapulpers, Recycling & Sludge Systems 🌱 Part 3 — Wastewater Treatment Facility & Final Exploration 📦 Once producing 100% recycled coated paperboard, Fusion Paperboard recycled over 160,000 short tons of material annually before closing in 2014. I’ll never forget the day my friend J and I wandered onto that sprawling ...
For weeks, I had been orbiting the perimeter of the impending demolition of the Church of St. Michael and St. Edward, a once revered church in the heart of Fort Greene, like a moth drawn to a flame. The neighborhood, a patchwork of tight project housing, seemed indifferent to the fate of this historic edifice. The intel I had received suggested that entry was as simple as scaling a wooden fence, yet the timing had never felt right. Until one day, it did. With a mission in New Jersey looming, I knew it was now or never. The demolition was advancing at a startling pace, the church's twin steeples already reduced to rubble. The skeletal remains of timber beams and rusted steel frames peeked out from the ruins, a testament to the relentless march of progress. Summoning a surge of courage, I seized a moment of quiet in the bustling housing project and vaulted over the fence. My heart pounded in my chest as I slipped unnoticed into the church grounds. The once grand entrance now stood as...
Photo courtesy of the Winchester Tax Office Pins in the Brook: The Last Ruins of the Union Pin Company J and I came at it through the trees. No path, just tall standing trees and the kind of undergrowth that swats at your shins and grabs your laces, until the canopy thinned and we found what was left. A turbine, tall and rusted, rising out of the woods beside a brook in Winsted, Connecticut. A small generator sat on top of it, also rusted, also still. Beside that, set back from the tree line and facing the residential houses across Lake Street, a sealed and boarded building held its ground. It was August 2019, midday, the kind of heat that slows everything down. We photographed the turbine carefully, then picked our way downstream along the slippery rocks of the brook that fed toward the Mad River past Boyd Street. What J never mentioned, and what I never thought to look for, was the hydropower outlet tucked behind the thick trees just off the path we'd taken. And neither of us eve...
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