Digital Ink'd

  In July 2024, the historic Quinebaug Mill met its fate, reduced to rubble after standing for over a century. Despite plans to transform the site into residential apartments, the project fell through. The primary roadblocks were a mix of logistical challenges and financial impracticalities. The Town of Killingly’s sewer system, already nearing capacity, couldn't accommodate the additional strain a large housing development would bring. Alternatives, like installing a private septic system, proved just as unfeasible, leaving developers with few options. In the end, the mill’s long decline culminated in demolition, another chapter closed in the story of New England’s once-thriving textile industry. Unlike many abandoned mills that became storage spaces for forgotten relics or junk, Quinebaug Mill was eerily empty. Its interior, stripped of its former industrial vibrancy, showed little evidence of its past life as a cotton mill. Decay had taken hold—moisture had compromised the wood ...

On North 16th Street in Philadelphia, a quiet piece of industrial history looms—its story tied to changing times and unfulfilled promises. This building, steeped in nearly a century of commercial and industrial legacy, tells a tale of shifting economic tides and unrealized dreams for redevelopment.   From my research, the building predates the 1942 land use maps, with its earliest recorded presence dating back to the 1920s. Over the decades, the structure served various roles. It housed a branch of the International Harvester Company, a manufacturer of tractors and motor trucks, and later split its space with a Sears Roebuck warehouse. Other businesses came and went, including Hess & Son, which produced non-corrosive tinning sticks branded as Tinol; The Bunting Company, known for its powder-coated metal furniture, and The Shore Company, a distributor of shipping trailers.   Today, the building’s fate remains uncertain. Once, a vision was to transform the site int...

This place holds a special meaning for me. I’ve visited several times, determined to explore every corner and uncover its secrets. But no matter how hard I tried, I never quite managed to see it all. The main front building, the one closest to the road? Never got inside. The massive cooling building in the back with its giant fans and smaller outbuildings? Missed that, too. And then there was the tank farm—a cluster of 22 rusty tanks tucked away in the upper right corner of the property. For some reason, no one ever took pictures of those tanks, even though they sat quietly in the shadows. I only noticed them recently, flipping through my old research notes. That’s when it hit me: I’d never taken the path that led there, too hesitant to get close to the Trenton-Mercer Airport’s fence line. I wasn’t here to get in trouble. I was here for the peaceful, empty buildings, not to risk getting caught wandering near airport grounds. Still, being there felt like stepping back in time. Walking t...