Long lost and timeworn, a worker’s shelter lost to the wrong space sits idle. On a gray day, with a gentle wind blowing throw the fading façade, a photographer stands still to absorb the ghostly presence of workers-past — their output long calculated in the Hilliard Mill’s account books: 1794 thru 2006, woolen goods, aircraft parts and furniture upholstery were produced in what is now the oldest wool mill in the United States.

The hourglass has turned time and time on the Hilliard Mill, once it settles still, rental space will give way to a long time coming, finality found in weathered beams and crumbled brick. Photographs will be memories…

 

 

 

Views: 76

Comment by Arthur James on January 16, 2013 at 10:04am

`

Just use Grey Duck Tape.

You use ` We People 'Right Guard.

as in spray deodorant. If out?

But 'Lysol' and spray armpits.

`

chuck a stetson. Fix Upper.

Spray mustard scent aroma.

You former Mr. Mustard Man.

Use Pine Sol. Rebuild Hut.

Rent? CEOs on Wall Street.

They can view Fool Moon.

Comment by chuck a stetson on January 16, 2013 at 10:20am

Art James sans Fat Tire

maybe and forever

time waits for time

by the river

lumber yards lumber

sheep drink lemon Kool-Aid

ghosts wear cashmere socks

nevermore 

duck tape shackles and Pine Sol 

Lomo de Puerco Relleno

don't me like that or then

on the dance floor

you cut the rug

made from Hilliard wool

Comment by Arthur James on January 16, 2013 at 10:29am

`

chuck a. stetson. You find date.

Formerly` Mean Mr. Mustard.

Take Hillary C. to Inaugural.

No pull wool over eyes.

Wear Stetson Hat?

Porkpie Hat.

Polka Too.

Comment by James Mark Emmerling on January 16, 2013 at 10:30am

I adore mills; how could I not, with so goddamn many of them around me?

My father , George the Educator, would take me by the mills in town---you know the ones---now rented by upscale renters who I hear (maybe a rumor?) have a nice party getting to know one another---

He had to supplement his income in the 40’s and 50’s by of all goddamn things, filling the candy machines for the workers…in his fading glory, he’d brag, “ah, this is where I worked! I was the candyman, that’s what they’d call me!”  I am sure he taught American history to many of their kiddos…

~

Mills. Blake at the outset of this lovely industrial revolutionary phase warned of “Dark Satanic Mills”

 

From his poem which nobody reads but they still made the “did those feet in ancient times” hymn from it, which , uh , he woulda been so f-ing proud of..

 

“And did the Countenance Divine,
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here,
Among these dark Satanic Mills?”

~

 

Well anyway. Mills are now happy places, or will be, when they are refurbished and rented out to dimwits who got no earthly idea of the suffering and triumph performed within their walls.

 

Long lost and timeworn, a worker’s shelter lost to the wrong space sits idle…?

Ha not if people are on the ball and can make it a NEW WORKER’S PARADISE.

Wool?

Haw.

Too easy.

Comment by chuck a stetson on January 16, 2013 at 11:21am

James M. E

inside the Hilliard Mill rests a truck sold on ebay

maybe we should take a ride

down Main Street

honk at the mayor

wave at the thai restaurant 

call in an order for Sukhothai pie

share tea with Jacob Cheney

and revel in the madness that is Silk

Comment by chuck a stetson on January 16, 2013 at 11:27am

my hat is out of the ring

art james idles with fat tire brew

me... flat tire bubbles

oh well

Mean Mr. Mustard sleeps in the park

Shaves in the dark 

blows a ten bob note from his nose

such a dirty old man

me... you... James M. E?

shouting something obscene

for the Dairy Queen

Comment by JMac1949 Memories on January 16, 2013 at 3:15pm

Great pics... I always loved ruins and abandoned houses... loved to think about who worked and lived in those places.  R&L ;-)

Comment by chuck a stetson on January 16, 2013 at 4:14pm

JMac... in my neck of the woods, we are blessed with old brick, post and beam muses... photographic memories are plentiful. 

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