Vanishing Soon

This post features buildings near where I currently live that are scheduled for removal. I believe that all of them will be replaced by subdivisions of large houses laid out to match other recent construction projects.  Legacy plots of land with old wooden buildings and fully grown trees are becoming rare.  The density of the new constructions will be determined by the economics of housing demand in a thriving urban metropolis.  The land is highly valued, so building contractors erect large houses on small lots.  A year ago, housing construction moved at a feverish pace.  Now the economy has slowed, and the building is winding down.

I frequently pass this old house pictured below on my way to a grocery market.  Some ambitious graphic artists have braved their way through a thicket of blackberry thorns to decorate the facade.  I like these graphics more than the corporate clutter displayed around the grocery market.

Do old, well-loved buildings leave ghosts of themselves when they are gone?

When I was a young man, I enjoyed a few years in an old rambling house located in the center of a small seaside town.  It was an arts community of sorts, with writers, musicians, painters, dramatists, and others both serious and frivolous.  I describe the house as “rambling” because it was a single-story structure with numerous additions.  While it lacked the architectural significance of the neighboring houses, it had its own charm.  The first room I rented had an adjoining bathroom, but the ceiling of both rooms stood only 5 feet (1.5 meters) high, forcing me to move around in a hunched over posture.  My house mates could not tell me why a functioning coin-operated phone was mounted on the kitchen wall.  Coins would be collected occasionally by a phone company employee.  One day, the pay phone itself was collected, leaving us a patch of wall with mismatched paint.  I have wonderful memories from that house.

After a number of decades, I returned to that same town, remarking to my spouse how familiar the main street was.  Then, when the site of my dear old house came into view, I saw it was gone.  There was a tiny park where it had been.  I stood still for some time, drawing an image of that old house in my mind.  I do not have a saved photograph of that house, so I can only rely on my memory.

Here is a fine old farmhouse and its barn with associated machinery.

The house pictured at the top of my post has a long-neglected backyard.

This house and its large lot were in very good condition, so I was surprised to see the public notice of its pending removal.  I snapped this photo, and a month later I returned to find it had already vanished.

As I wander about and see old buildings slated for removal, I am enthused to capture impressions of them with black and white film.  The majority of these structures are in a poor state of repair, likely to collapse if left alone.  I will not miss them when they are gone.  However, I will miss the large trees and their cooling shade.  While new trees are always planted, they require decades of growth before they can provide relief from the summer sun.   The density of new housing construction will bring some local congestion on streets and roads, but that is okay for me.  I don’t mind the traffic slowing down.  Besides, the construction brings sidewalks, and I am delighted to see the new residents strolling with beautiful children and well-groomed dogs.

All negatives were developed in Adox Rodinal at 1:100 dilution, scanned with an Epson v550 flatbed, and cropped with Darktable software.

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