Abandoned Bedrock City - Williams, AZ

Dear Diary,
After nearly 50 years, this roadside attraction based on the 1960s animated series, “The Flintstones”, has shuttered its doors.

I read that in its place, a Raptor Ranch will open with predatory birds on display in between live shows.

The site is located about 25 miles south of the Grand Canyon's south rim, so it was an ideal spot for travelers back then to set up camp. I’m sure it was quite popular in the golden age of road trips, when it was customary for families to pack up the station wagon to see the sites. I feel lucky enough to have seen the signage and other structures before they were torn down to transition the property for its new usage.

Bedrock City opened in the 70s, known for its buildings seemingly built of carved stone. I read that generations of children would have taken seats inside the Bedrock Schoolhouse, pretended to be locked up in the Bedrock jail or watched the namesake cartoon on an unending loop in the Bedrock theatre. The highlight of the park would be sliding down the neck of the Brontosaurus.

The original proprietors raised 5 children in the park, and the new owners are aware of the area’s fondness towards the site. He’s stated that they’re keeping some of the statues, including the Brontosaurus, to be used as centerpieces in the new children’s playground.

To see it sit in silence now felt like I witnessed the end of an era.

However, there appears to be still-open Bedrock City sites near another national monument - Mount Rushmore, in Custer, South Dakota. And while I understand it was time for business-side of things to move forward following the retirement of the original owner, I was satisfied to learn pieces of this Bedrock City would remain intact for future generations to enjoy.

Update on The Abandoned Farmhouse

Dear Diary,
I believe, in life - that the secret to being interesting is to be interested.

And while the topics that interest me aren't shared by many, I cannot deny the excitement nor the fascination that today's post has inspired.

You may recall this post I wrote a couple of years ago, The Abandoned Farmhouse.

We had lived in that neighborhood for 5 years, and we could see the apex of its roofline from our living room window.

We'd pass by each time we took the kids to school. The house both creeped me out and intrigued me. To this day, that remains true.

I couldn't figure it out. The lawn was always mowed, even though the shrubs were overgrown and in desperate need of a trim. The front of the house received a fresh coat of white paint, even though the other three sides were left to chip. Curtains remained hung in the upstairs windows, while the broken panes on the lower level were quickly boarded up.

By who, and when, was an enduring mystery.

With a 'No Trespassing' sign displayed prominently on the front door, I respected the boundary it established, though I paused often to ponder its story from the sidewalk. To the right of the house was an unpaved path. There was no driveway (that I could tell) and no garage - the farmhouse was old, stuck in an era that the rest of the neighborhood moved on from.

I tried to uncover the property's history, but without knowing the house number, my attempts came up empty. We've since sold our house and moved across town.

Then one day, as I passed the property to drop off my daughter at school, I saw a "For Sale" sign in the front yard. I was caught off guard by how excited that made me. As soon as I got to work, I went online to peruse the listing.

I finally had an address. It was time to put the research skills I fostered in my time as a reporter to use, and see what I could turn up. The 2-story farmhouse has 3 bedrooms, 1 bath and is approximately 1500-square feet. It sits on 1.38 acres and was built in 1925.

"... in need of love and attention," the listing described. "Property has potential for teardown and lot split."

NO. PLEASE DON'T TEAR THIS HOUSE DOWN. I hope Minneapolis' version of Joanna Gaines swoops in to save this historic property.

"... will be sold as is."

I want so badly to get inside.

Life in 1920s Minnesota

Everything about life back then was worse. Food was expensive, and the business of America was farming. Half of America's families lived in rural areas or in towns with less than 2,500 people. Owning a home was rare, and often, multiple generations of a family lived under one roof. Even though home values were around $75,000 in today's dollars, a down payment of 50% was required.

Plus, at the time of the farmhouse's construction, St. Paul's gangster era was in full swing.

Then I read that if a home was over 50 years old, the likelihood that someone died in it was very high.

Funerals were a private, family affair, often with the viewings held in the home's front room. It was this thought, combined with the images I took of the vacant property, that would contribute to the creepy feeling I'd get as we'd approach the farmhouse.

My research

I discovered who the current owner is, and even though the documents are public record, I will not reveal the name for the sake of privacy. What I will state is the record of sales I found going back 10 years - in 1998 the property sold for $30,000 and in 2009, for $105,000.

Was this intended to be an income property?

Why else would the current owner hold on to it for so long?

Is there a personal connection?

Why was it abandoned?

A clue that the property sat vacant for some time is in the low sale price from 1998. It makes me wonder how much of a time capsule the interior is, how many personal belongings remain inside and when it was last inhabited.

I'm trying to work up the courage to ask the listing agent if I could enter.

Meanwhile, I fear I've merely uncovered more questions than I have answers.

The Abandoned Archibald Mill - Dundas, MN

Dear Diary,
My children are soon-to-be 11 (how?!) and 7.

They are curious, active and inquisitive.

And to fuel their imaginations, I've been taking them with me on my explorations in the area.

Sometimes, the subject matter is a bit mature, sometimes violent and sometimes abandoned, like the topic of this post.

This is their history though, as Minnesota is their home base and I'm certain they'll soon learn about these places in school. My goal and intent is that they will be able to connect what they saw with their own eyes and what they experienced at these places to the lessons they'll potentially be taught. The impact will be far greater and much more meaningful.

Minnesota is home to what was once the "milling capital of the world."

Flour mills were abundant, driving both city settlements and the state's early economy.

The most famous mill is probably the Washburn A Mill, the site of a deadly explosion that killed more than a dozen men and prompted revised safety precautions. Currently, the Mill City Museum resides on that spot of occurrence.

Scattered throughout the region are the ruins of smaller mills, like the Archibald Mill in Dundas. It's now abandoned, the structure crumbling as nature reclaims it for herself, and is a short drive from our house.

The Archibald Mill is located on the Cannon River, which was essential for power, and was founded in 1857. It expanded with a second mill constructed across the river in 1870. It was the first U.S. mill to produce and market patent flour, and it's "Dundas Straight" was once considered the best flour in the country. The Archibald Mill is associated with the introduction of hard spring wheat to Minnesota, and was one of the nation's first to convert fully to a roller mill. The site is listed on the National Register of Historic Places for its national significance in commerce, industry and of course, flour milling.

At the time, the mill used the most current technology available, and the flour, called EXTRA, was a fine quality. It was sold for $1-2 more per barrel than other local flours.

On December 31, 1892, both mills caught fire and burned. The monetary loss was $30,000 and was partially covered by insurance. Twice more the mill was rebuilt and burned in fires before it was destroyed in the 1930s.

Today, only the foundation of the 1857 mill remains, while the ruins of the 1870 mill stand at the river's edge near a trailhead for the Mill Towns Trail.

Abandoned World War II Munitions Factory - Rosemount, MN

Dear Diary,
Located off County Road 46 in Rosemount sits an old, abandoned munitions factory that the government had annexed during World War II. The decaying structures rise above the overgrowth like eerie reminders of a time long since passed.

(Snow covers the land once known as Gopher Ordinance Works.)

The by-products of weapons were made here ... that were likely sent off to war in the European and Pacific Theaters ... that likely killed people.

To have this connection so close to where I raise my children is chilling, and try as I might not to think like that, the thoughts still strike me just the same.

I pull over on the side of the road. With my keys in my pocket, and my long lens attached to my trusty Canon, I exit my car. I walk as far as I am able, banned to go any further than 20 steps because of the NO TRESPASSING signs that guarantee a ticket and possible arrest if I let my curiosity get the best of me.

I use my long lens like a telescope, which allows my vision to get closer to the ruins than my body ever could. These are the images I’ve captured:

In 1943 the U.S. government took control of 12,000 acres of farmland located south of Minneapolis. By the time the munitions plant was up and running, the end of the War was 7 months away (and another reason why I try to shake the aforementioned morbid thoughts from my head - the timeline of this site is quite short). Two years later, the land was deeded to the University of Minnesota, and since then, it’s been used mostly for academic and agricultural research.

Known today as UMore Park, there are portions that have been opened to the public as park land and trails, but the structures themselves are strictly off limits. (Why?) From the road, you can see the rows and rows of cement columns wrapped in ceramic, the large concave supports, the dismantled storage tanks, and in the distance, four ominous venting towers shaped like gun barrels.

It stands, because no one knows what to do with it. Both the U and the Army Corps of Engineers have completed assessments on the land, but the results are mixed. Some of the land has received the approval for possible development, while others haven’t. (Again, why?)

Either way, nothing has happened so the war factory continues to cast its haunting shadow.

Note: If you’re going to check out a location or abandoned building, it is imperative to obey the posted signage. Satisfying your curiosity is not worth the creation of a rap sheet.