Hanging out in the cornfield

Hanging out in a cornfield

The adventure continued.  The curvy roads were endless.  We were getting closer to our destination.  The road went from paved to unpaved.  We were traveling along the river for miles.  I still get nervous when I am on these narrow roads and river is right there.  One slip and we are in it.
The rain from previous days had washed out some of the road, and what it didn’t wash away had large ruts.  Thank God for the jeep.  It was a lot worse this trip, then it was on the previous one.  We had so much wet weather that the roads were awful.
There were a lot of empty houses and barns, that at one time was a thriving community, but now….Just a quiet, lonely river bottom full of desolate green fields, with creeks rippling through them.  A beautiful landscape.  For sure.  Up a head the road narrowed.  There had been a rock slide that had claimed  more of the road.  I hung onto the oh shoot handle, as we bounced our way to the other side of the slide.  Up ahead a man was fishing.  we stopped and ask him how he was doing?  He had caught some river cats but that was all.  We bid him farewell and went up the road a little further.
There she was!  A shell of what once was a school-house.  A stone one,  not wood.  I had wanted to see inside the building the last time we were here.  But it sat in a field of corn.  We didn’t want to trample the gentlemen crop so I just took my pics from the road.
The last pics I got here were pretty unique.  It was raining that day, so I had pics of the corn crop and the schoolhouse as the rain fell.  After the storm passed there was a lot of fog which rose off of the river, it made for an awesome pic.  Now I was back to get some photos from inside.  I got my tripod and walked over to the lonely school-house as a woodpecker made a ruckus in the distance. The wind rustled through the branches, and you could hear birds singing all around.  It was beautiful and peaceful here.  I could only imagine what it was like to have went, to this school.  I would love to have a cabin in this spot.  I am sure it would be soothing to see nature all around you, when you woke in the morning.
Well, mission accomplished.  I had seen what I had traveled this long distance to see.  The lonely, stone school-house ruins that sat in someones cornfield.  Thanks for the opportunity to capture on film.  Another one of my loves.

Lost history

A Piece of Lost history hidden along the creek

We took a wrong turn but what a great wrong turn!   We ended up coming upon this long, lost, beauty.  I am guessing it was a grist mill at one time.  The strange thing is that I can’t find any info on it.  I tried to research it when I got home to no avail.
It set back off the road, along a quiet creek, perched upon the hillside.  I was surprised, I was even able to see it.   It had the stone structure underneath which is common for the old mills.  It looked to be in great shape considering the age of it.  I wanted to ask someone to walk up and shoot it but there was a gate with no trespassing signs and private property signs.  I wasn’t able to get access to it.  If I had I would have shared the photos.
I thought this was a true, treasure to find.  A piece of lost history, perched along a quiet creek in the solitude of the woods of Kentucky.  I can not explain, in words, my emotional connections to these relics of the past.  They don’t make structures like this anymore.  The detail is superb.  Lots of blood sweat and tears went into making this structures in the day.
I hope you can sense the peacefulness of this place, through my words.  I could sit here all day and listen to the birds sing and the water kiss the rocks as it passed over them.  Taking time to reflect on the moment and to hang onto, one more memory.  A memory of beautiful Kentucky countryside.
©Tammy Sullivan 2015

Heading deeper into the countryside, we passed what used to be an old gas station.  There was still a gas pump there as well as an old garage.  Stuff has a tendency to build up over the years, as you can see here, there were many relics from the past.
I remember as a child, riding with my grandpa to a local gas station which was similar to this one.  The attendant would fill up the car, clean the windows, check oil and catch up on the small town gossip.  Those were the days when there were things more important than rushing to the local Wal-Mart.  A time when you knew your neighbors and a handshake sealed many a bargain.  I know those days are gone forever.  Maybe that is why I have to stop when I see a place like this.  I didn’t know the people who owned this station but I remember people who owned places similar to this one.  Passing on my Lost in the attic pics.

Old school

The old school house Lost and forgotten

I came upon, what I thought was an old abandoned farm-house.  It was surrounded by bales of hay,  and stood 50 feet or so, off of the road, and was tilted a bit to toward the lane.  The metal roof still looked to be in good shape, but the sides, close to the ground were starting to rot away. The front foyer was just about to remove itself from the rest of the structure.  It had weathered many a storm, for sure.  Not too many more years, will this one, be able to hold on.
The old house was at a cross roads.  I went through the four-way stop and parked at a church that sat across from it.
This was such a beautiful, small town.  There was a church across the road from the house and one to the left of it. There was an old country store a hop and skip  away from the church. I stopped to take photos of the quaint town.  I was snapping away when a mature women passed near me.  I shouted out a good afternoon to her as  she approached me, and I stopped taking pictures.   I explained to her my desire to shoot old buildings and country scenes.  I then walked a little closer, toward her and asked her about the house across the way.  “My husband and I  are 79 years old and that building use to be a school, back in the day.” she informed me.  “ When my husband was young he visited there.”  She also told me about the country store beside her home.  It had been owned by two separate families and was now used for yard sales.  The one two-story church building across the road was now a lodge.  At one time it was a Baptist church.  “About a 100 or so years ago” she said , “The  Baptist and the masons jointly built the church.  They shared it.  The congregation had church there and the Masons had meetings there.  It worked out great.  Never any problems.  Then a few years ago there were hardly any members of the church  left.  People had died off and others had moved away.  That is when the church allowed the Masons to buy out their half of the building.  Now it is just a lodge.” 
By stopping by this little Mayberry town,  I had learned so much about its past and the present.  This is what my photos are all about.  Saving a bit of the past and sharing it with the now.  I am thankful for Ms. Triptons Info.  I was blessed to meet her.


Now I look at what I thought was a beautiful farm-house, in a different perspective.  It once housed children learning to read and write and learn the facts of life.  I could see the old desks and blackboard.  Yes, history paused for a moment to say hello to a humble soul like me.  Thank you.
The old school ©Tammy Sullivan
The students are gone, the teachers no more.
The windows are broken, so are the doors.
There is no laughter, within these dark walls.
Only the silence, echo in these halls.
The chalkboard is erased,  nothing there.
The bell is silent, no one who cares.
The story of the old schoolhouse
up on the hill, beside the old outhouse. ©Tammy Sullivan2015.

Dear Elizabeth

My Dear Elizabeth

Had more great adventures this weekend.  Saw so many beautiful places, that have been left to their own elements.  There was one place that I went to that had so much history.  It had been owned by a flint-lock maker.  Him and his family had moved into the town and even named the town.
He was born in 1790 and died Feb. 1808.  He was 38 years old.  Small pox is what claimed his life, yet spared his wife and 10 children.  It is really a sad story, even though his wife carried on and kept up the beautiful farm, losing her husband had to be a great loss to the family.  Ten children are a lot to take care of.
I stopped by to ask who owned the house, I wanted to take pics of the place before it is gone.  As usual, I wanted to just shoot the place and record its beauty and not steal a thing.  My love for these places are to save and preserving her elegant beauty.  They would not approve the shoot.  I was heart-broken.  Another beauty that is going to fade into a memory.
I envision what you look like, your inner beauty, a stairway on each side.
I picture Elizabeth, in the moonlight, down the stairs she glides.
The moonbeams are bouncing off of her lovely, soft , white skin.
Illuminating her body’s motion, as the long, stairway, she descends.
The windows open wide, allowing the. light to penetrate the  blackness
Your statuette, like a Greek Goddess, moonbeams show your womanliness.
Her spirit will always linger here, she is the Mother of this house.
She walks the halls, through all the doors, quiet as a mouse.
I would love to feel her spirit, as I travel through these halls.
To here the silent whisper of the house, as to me, it calls.
So sad this is not to be, The inside I will not be able to see.
But in my dreams, as the long, stairway I climb, I become thee.
I am you, my sweet, dear, Elizabeth if only in the hallows of my dreams. @Tammy Sullivan 2015

Old civil war home

Abandoned and alone

I feel your eyes upon me, longing to be inside of me.  I know how bad you want me.  You want to reach deep inside me and fill me with your warmth.  I can almost since your yearnings, I can sense your needs, and your fears.  It is so cold, empty, and black here.  To have you inside would bring so much joy to such a place as me.  Your heart is racing, blood boiling, just from the sight of my brokenness.  Just a touch, a peek, that is all you want.  So sorry someone won’t let you come in, to trespass to leave your mark upon me.  You have a love for me and others like me.  The damaged, the broken, the ones left to fade into darkness.  Please come back to me and try again at a later time to invade my deep dark crevasses.  But don’t trespass, for you may die!
The old mansion I long to see but the owners said no!

Siento tus ojos sobre mí, deseando estar dentro de mí. Sé cuánto me quieres. Quieres llegar dentro de mí y Lléname con tu calor. Puedo casi desde sus anhelos, puedo sentir sus necesidades y sus miedos. Es tan frío, vacío y negro aquí. Para tenerte dentro traería mucha alegría a un lugar como yo. Su corazón está acelerado, sangre hirviendo, sólo de la vista de mi quebrantamiento. Sólo un poco, echar un vistazo, eso es todo lo que quieras. Siento alguien no te dejará entrar, a traspasar para dejar su huella en mí. Tienes un amor para mí y para otros como yo. El dañado, el roto, los que quedan a desvanecerse en la oscuridad. Por favor vuelve a mí y probar otra vez en un momento posterior a invadir mis grietas profundo y oscuro.

Old log cabin

Old log house built in 1861

Mr. Hicks family owns what was once the Mauser home place.  It was erected in 1861.  It had started out as a log house.  It had one large room upstairs and two rooms down stairs.  Later on there was an addition added on.  Mr. Hicks didn’t know the date of the addition, but the log house, part, had a date of 1861 engraved in a log upstairs.  The addition had a large room that was used as a kitchen then there was a smaller room used as a pantry and an extra room. It was put together with nails made by hand, which, Mr. Hicks showed me, they had square heads.  He even gave me one as a souvenir.  The addition had large logs underneath, that the rooms were built upon, but the outside walls were made of lapped boards, not the large logs like the other part of the house.  I didn’t wander around in the new rooms , it was not very safe.  I did , however, go into the log structure, with Mr. Hick’s permission.  “At your own risk”. He had told me.  I accepted.  When I go into these places, I have to take certain risk and responsibilities.  The right front of the cabin, was full of hay, so I couldn’t even peek inside there.  I entered the through the left door.  In front of me, at the end of the hall was the back door.  To my right was the door that went into the room with the hay.  To my left was a stairway that went upstairs.  the steps were starting to separate from the wall, but were still sturdy.  There were no spindles on the rails, it was a solid wood panel.  I carefully made my way up the creaky stairs.  At the top, was a window, that overlooked the back yard and the homes new addition.  There was another small hallway  that ran the width of the house, along the stairs, to another window.  I am sure there was great ventilation.  If you make a right at the top of the stairs, there is a doorway to enter into the large room.  You can see the logs and the large gaps where the mud, or whatever they had used to seal the gaps, had faded way.
The wood floors were still solid and the lattice strips that made up the ceiling were starting to fall down, revealing newspapers that were stuffed into the beams to help keep out the stinging winds, proving to be an efficient barrier in its day.
I had made many observations and took many pics trying to preserve the memory of this homestead.   I hope you enjoy my observations.
Now for a little part of the history.
The Mauser’s that built this beautiful cabin, were moonshiners.  they sold a lot of moonshine.  Many barrels a day.  They even made a hole under the kitchen part, that allowed them to store barrels, for their booze, underneath the house.  There was and still is a spring by the cabin, which I am sure they used in making their illegal, product.  Yes, it was not legal to make or have moonshine in the day.
The cabin sits way back off the road and is part of a lovely farm.  I can picture them running the moonshine and for some reason, the song, “Copperhead Road ” comes to my mind.
Well, how did the Hick’s family obtain this place? You may ask.  Well, If I got this right.  Mr. Hicks,  Dad or Granddad, co signed on a loan for the property.  There were only four payments made and then it fell to Mr. Hicks to make the remainder of the  payments.  Mr. Hicks did, finish paying for the property and that is how it changed names.  I will be talking to Mr. Hicks again and I will update some of this info.  If need be.  I am writing this to the best of my knowledge, from memory.  and if I am wrong I will correct it, after I Talk to he owner.
OK! Update.  The moonshine was made under the floor of the kitchen, by the original owners, the Mausers.  They made one or two batches a week.  The Mauser family, would bring up 3 barrels of water a day, from the spring that was next to the house.  There are three springs on the farm. The one by the house was used mainly by the Mauser clan. It  has never ran dry.  Even during dry weather it continued to have water. There was a spring on the west side of the farm.  A man, that lived,upon the hill would  come down to the west spring and get his water.
The recipe for the moonshine was printed on cardboard that was nailed to the upstairs wall.  The board that had the date engraved on it was removed and kept by the present owner of the farm, at his home.
The gallons of moonshine were stored in the rafters of the log house, during the prohibition era. And the family had  a crawl space, which I took pics of, that allowed them to hide their white gold.
Uncle Ernie bought the farm from the Mauser family.  He was a drunk and ended up not being able to make his payments.  He lost the farm to his brother whom consigned on the 85 acre, farm loan.  It was handed down to the Mr. Hicks. ( The gentleman I met.) after his father passed away in the 90’s.
I thought this was some great history and a true Kentucky story.  I am so  grateful for Mr. Hicks allowing me to explore his cabin and share his memory’s of the place.  It was a blessing meeting him.



This article is under construction so there is more to come.  Lords willin.
The Mauser cabin ©Tammy Sullivan 2015
The old Mauser log cabin, set way back in the woods.
Surrounded by the white, and the pink dogwoods.
You would never guess, the obscure things that went on inside.
Or all the things she has seen, and tries to hide.
A moonshiners castle, that is what I have been told.
Oh the stories and the legends that cabin does hold.
How I wish these old, walls could talk,
the tales of this ones past, to be unlocked.
I could sit here, beneath the oaks, throughout the day.
And listen to every, single word, you had to say.
As the gentle, kiss from the warm breeze,
Amongst the blooms of the dogwood trees.
The fragrant smell of the bloom surrounds me.,
covering me with a sweet, peace  as I take in all I can see.

A Kentucky home place.  A little bit of colorful history as I see it

Growing up in a house that always had strange things happen

Growing up in the northern U.S. was very nice. During the winters we had lots of snow and the summers always seemed comfortable, with a breeze coming off of the lakes.  I grew up in a home that was well over 100 years old.  The basement was made of large, hand cut stone, stacked tightly together.  It was dark and musty.  The steps coming out of the basement, to the outside, were very large stones that led to a slanted drop door.  There was a large oil furnace that took up almost half the basement, plus two oil tanks in the corner.  There were shelves along the walls, for canned food, and an antique stove to cook on.
The house was a two-story farm-house.  It had asbestos shingles and black wood shutters that my Dad put around the windows.  It had a small front porch.  I wish I had more pics of the house I grew up in, but back then there was no such thing as digital cameras and pics were not taken as often.  My room, was upstairs, in the front.  Me and my dad had paneled and carpeted the room and made it livable.  It was a cozy place, much love and many fun times, but we worked too.  My Dad always had a garden and i hated to silk corn and string beans.  It was part of being a family tho’.  My sis and I stringed beans and Mom and Dad canned them.  I still have the antique stove from our basement, that we canned on.
Well, now that I have given you a vision of the home I grew up in, I will share some of the strange things that happened there.
There were many times that I came home from school, unlocked the door,  went inside and I would here noises upstairs.  It sounded like someone walking around.  I would walk or should I say run? Next door, to where my Dad worked and he would come home and check it out.  Nothing there.  One time he came home tho’ and a bird had gotten into the attic.  That one we could explain.  It had even knocked a lamp over.
Mom and dad use to have prayer meetings and church services at the house,  I remember one night during a prayer service, a shadow moved in front of the upstairs door.  I called it an angel.   The Lighthouse song was what was playing on the stereo, to the best of my memory.  It gave me chills.  Then one night while having a meeting on Warren Ave. a pair of work boots stumbled down the stairway.  My mom had me to move them upstairs underneath my clothes rack.  I did and they came down the stairs again.  Everyone just laughed it off.  Once, OK. but Twice or more? That was then.
Well, things didn’t happen all the time but as time went on, it seemed to get worse.  When my first husband and I got married we lived in the house.  My parents had built them a new home, so we rented the old one.  We were in bed one night.  Not drunk or on drugs. I want to clear that up first. LOL !   We heard someone walking up and down the steps of the basement.  Now the old oil boiler, in the basement, had a flapper on it, that made noises but that is not what we heard.  Remember I grew up here and I knew the flapper sound well.  It was something on the stairs.   There was a guest room to the rear of the house that we always kept the door shut on, unless someone spent the night with us.  My Ex got a shotgun, gave me the twenty-two, put me under the bed and he went to the door of our room.   He hollered out “Come out or I will shoot!” .  At that exact moment the quest room door opened, and my ex, slammed  our bedroom door shut.  I told him we had to get whom ever it was, out of the house.  We went out of our room, holding up our guns, pointing toward the open living room.  We searched the quest room, no one there.  We went to the bathroom to check the basement door.  It was still locked.  We unlocked it and went to the basement.  All was in order there.  There was no one in our house except us.  I cannot explain what went on that night but I have never forgotten it.  It was real and the two of us knew, it was something that could not be explained and people would not believe.  I was really scared that night.
But the scariest thing that happened to me, in that house.  Happened to me when I was alone.  It wasthe evening a tall, handsome, blond apparition appeared to me.
I was separated from my first husband.  I had “Come back and stay”, by Paul Young, playing over and over, on my stereo.  I was laying on my fully made bed, listening to the song play, while I mourned my separation.  I was lonely and depressed.  The 45 record was streaming out my inner feelings.
I was lying there when a tall, muscular man with long, thick blond hair, in leather pants stood before me.  He was the most gorgeous man I had ever laid eyes upon. He towered above me.  I was in awe and scared at the same time.  Now what happened to me next is beyond what any horror story could tell.  It happened to me.  It was real!  If I get up the nerve I will share with you, in my next post.  Have a great evening.  Hugs and Kisses.

House on the hill

House hidden upon the hill

When the icy fingers of  winter, start moving in.   Things that have been hidden, behind the leaves of summer, start to reveal themselves.  The leaves fall from the trees and bushes, like clothing falling to the floor.  Showing the nakedness of the abandoned houses and barns.  Bringing into light, that which was once hidden.
It was on one of my adventures, that I spotted, one of those hidden places.  I had been in this area many times but had not seen this treasure, that sat upon the hill, behind a grove of trees.  She stood there poised against the blue and white sky, like a skeleton.  The siding had started falling off, and there were places, that you could see all the way through the house.  Just like bones. A ghost of what once stood here.
I made my way through the high weeds and briars, that towered,  above me, drawing closer to the farmhouse.  Scratches scared my hands as I pushed forward.  With every cautious step, that I took, more of her beauty came into view. I could make out a bit of yellow paint that had once covered the wooden siding.  It was a two-floor, wooden, farmhouse.  The front porch, had fell upon itself, scattered and  broken in pieces, at my feet.  I could not even make out where the front door was, due to the large, splinters of wood blocking it.
I moved away from the front of the house and made my way to the back , looking for a back door, or another way to get inside.  All the while, I was watching for open cisterns and  wells, or dangerous openings, which I have stumbled upon many times.
Oh, my!  It was amazing!  The back of the house was made in the shape of an L.  What was so fascinating, was that the original house had once been a one room, single story house, made of field stone.  There was a large stone chimney, to the right side, of the stone house.  This was beautiful, to see. The perfect workmanship that had went into this place.  There was also, an open back door, so I ventured in.  The door was short and wide.  Different from what we have today.  It was painted yellow, to match the house siding.  I stepped through the door, into the open space, a fireplace, to my right, and another short, yellow door, matching the one, that I just came  through, in front of me.  The floor was wooden slats, that were still in good shape. As a matter of fact, this part of the house could be saved, and would make a beautiful home.
To the left, was a doorway, that led into the newer part of the house.  The doorway was average size, unlike the one I had just entered.  This part of the house, was still very old.  I could tell by the lattice strips that had once been covered by plaster.  This room that I had walked into, had  been the kitchen, where only the top, cabinets remained.
From this room , I went straight through , into another room.  Most likely the living-room area.  This is where you could see, the decay this place has fell into.  The front of the house was gone.  That was where the porch had been.  Ceilings were sagging, as well as the floors.  This part of the house was very, unsafe.  A fireplace was to the right, and a shelf and window, as well as holes in the wall, opening to the outside.  Not much left to see. There was a door to the left.  I walked carefully, over to it, floor sagging , with each step that I took.  I made it safely.  This was once the foyer, where there were steps leading upstairs.  It was so unsafe that I didn’t attempt to climb them. But peeked into the room on the other side of the stairs. There was a fireplace  there also.
This concluded my inside adventure.  There was a screened in porch off of the living room but It was taken over by nature.  Didn’t go there either.
It was a beautiful place, once.  Sitting here, overlooking the creek below,  away from the hustle and bustle.  Like a guardian.  Glad I got to see her and connect with a bit of the past.  Keep watching over the creek, as well as the land at your feet.  You are abeautiful.

Screen door

The screen door

The first thing that I notice, as I approached, was the screen door.
Hung on three hinges, a spring attached, holding it closed.
The light was hung, by  door, to the right.
There was no glow shining, even tho’ the globe was unbroken.
The porch was, a bit, unstable, roof had fallen.
Window panes, are all broken, letting in rain, wind and cold.
Still a real beauty.

A real ghost town

I am at the point in my life, where the crowded towns and lots of people, bustling about, is less desirable than before.  I would rather take a quiet walk in the woods or on a quiet beach and become one with nature.  I like having time to think and meditate on things that are more important.  It is getting harder and harder to find these quiet places.  Our country is growing fast and quiet spots are being swallowed up.
I was out driving the back roads one day when I stumbled upon a real, ghost town.  It was down some narrow lanes, nestled in the hills.  Hidden from most people, who live in the bigger towns.  The first thing that I spotted was an abandoned log cabin.  Looked to be a one or two room cabin.  It was very small.  Then there was an old abandoned church, sitting alongside, a crystal blue creek, glistening in the sunlight.  This was picture perfect.  I very seldom see a church that sits by a creek. Words can’t describe how perfect it was.  Just ahead of me was a country store, with abandoned cars and tractors parked along side of it, a glider chair on its porch.  I was so glad, to see all these abandoned buildings, untouched by vandals.   There was no graffiti.  Out from the country store was a large farm.  The farm house was three stories, with a wrap around porch.  I can only imagine how great it would be, to sit here, in the evening, as the sun was setting, sipping on a cup of coffee and watching the evening colors coat the sky.  It would be so peaceful and beautiful.  I am sure there are lots of wildlife that cross through here also.  I could embrace this lifestyle.  But believe it or not.  There is more.   a one room school house, back a lane.  Windows were boarded up but the door was unlocked.  Walking inside, I entered a coat room.  There was a row of hooks, which I am sure, at one time held many coats, on cool days.  From the coat room it opened up into a large room, where the classes were held.  The blackboard was gone and there were no desks to be seen.  The school was in excellent shape.  It was very dark inside, even with my flashlight. I didn’t see any water damage, missing floor boards or a damaged roof .  It was great!   From here I went up to the farm house which still held many treasures inside.  There were cabinets, tea sets, dish wares and much more.  Left as if someone had just walked away.  There were broken windows.  I don’t know if it was from weather and time or from humans.  There still wasn’t any signs of vandals.  Good!   Things were not broken and scattered about. It looked untouched.  I was not going to disturb this place either.  Along the road there were many other abandoned homes, some in descent shape, some not so much.  But the sun was setting so it was time to move on to another adventure on another day.

In the Hills

What I found in the hills of Kentucky

It was a beautiful weekend.  We headed out, on a day long adventure, into the Appalachia.  It was so beautiful and there was so much to see.  One of our first stops was on an old country lane.  There was an old house, sitting across from the creek.  I had to see it.  I had to peek inside.  The creek was serving as a barrier for me.  But I was overcome with the need to see this place.  I was not to be stopped.  I had to get across.  The creek was not deep, but I could not make it across, in hiking boots.  My feet would be soaked and it was to cold to wade across.  Fortunately I had a pair of muck boots in the back of the jeep.  I pulled them on, and proceeded to cross the babbling brook.  I got to the other side, safely and hurriedly headed toward what I thought, was a house.  When I reached the house, I noticed the steps to the door were long, gone. There was about a three-foot distance from the ground to the doorway. I climbed upon the large log that served as a floor support, and pulled myself forward to see inside the dank, musty building.  After peeking inside I concluded it must have been a store, back in the day.  There was one large room full of what appeared to be counters.  They were made of wood and ran down each side of the building and also in the back.  There were no shelves to be seen.  There were four windows.  Two in the back and two in the front, each were covered with chicken wire.  The floors were wooden, as were the ceilings.  And as I said before.  The building was built on large logs. I wish I had seen this in its grandeur.  She was a beauty, even now.
Well, I had more to see.  I could see another structure in the woods, to my left.  It look as if it had been a large home.  I inched my way through the briars, receiving more than one scratch along the way.  It was overgrown and I knew that this farm had to have been vacant, for a long time.  The trees and briars, made it hard to get to the looming, formation, ahead of me.  As a propelled closer, I saw that a large oak tree had fallen,  and taken out the center part of the house, including the stairway.  I could see the blue, interior walls, that once served as a foyer.  To the left and the right of the fallen tree,  the house still stood.  It was two floors but impossible for me to get upstairs, because of the stairs being absent.  The windows of the house also had chicken wire over the them.  Maybe it was put there, originally, to keep people out.  I continued to fight my way through the brush, heading to the back of the house.  The back of the building was one floor.  There were two fairly large rooms.  Both rooms  had been wall papered.  The paper was faded and peeling, revealing the lattice and plaster beneath it.  There was a large fireplace in the back room, the mantle was gone.  The brick was still there.  The floors were rotted out due to years of being tattered by the rain and time.  Elements and mother nature were reclaiming their own.  I continued around to the back of the house.  There was a porch that ran the full length of the house.  The porch was only 3 or 4 inches off the ground.  Very low.  In front of the veranda was a retaining wall.  It was built of hand cut stone, and carpeted in deep green moss.  A sign of harder times.  A time when everything was built by hand with blood, sweat and tears.  How I would love to have that on my property.  Someone really loved this place.  The family that had once resided here, loved and protected her.  Many an evening, was most likely spent here, on this very porch, listening to the creatures of the night.  I felt like I was there.  Oh how beautiful you are.
Well, There was more.  Oh yes, so much more.  On the hillside, above the house, was an old cellar.  It was built of hand cut stone, same as the retaining wall.  It had two layers of stone instead of one.  It had taken a lot of time to build it.  It was still standing, proud, amongst the twisted vines and shadowing trees.  There were massive boulders surrounding the cellar, covered in blankets green, moss.  This just made it all the more beautiful.  I imagine the cellar was built here amongst these rocks, with some of the rocks that were here.  I am so glad I checked out this place.  It was too beautiful not to be documented in pics.   May the beauty that was live on.

Shadows dancing

Shadows Dancing on the walls (My night trip into the abandoned)

When the sun disappears, into the dark of night.
Ghost comes out, and dance in the moonlight.
Shadows gliding, and climbing the walls.
bodiless voices, whisper in the halls.
Moon shining through the window pane, lights the way.
For all the ghost of the night, to come out and play.
The ghostly stream, illuminates the stairs,
as the spirits of the house, are unaware.
A woman is descending the, winding, staircase,
Slender, elegant, with beauty and grace.
You can look right through her, nothing is there.
If you find her eyes, just a blank stare.
If you listen real close, you might hear a chatter.
Is it the wind blowing the tin roof, that causes the clatter?
They say that your mind plays tricks on you,
All the shadows and noises misconstrued.
Just remember, when it is dark outside.
You see and hear things, you can’t verify.
If you venture into this home, in the dark of night.
You may just leave in bit of a fright. ©Tammy Sullivan2015


It is amazing how things are so different when you go exploring at night.  Things seem to be lurking behind every door.   It is amplified when you can’t clearly, see what is there.
Just another day in my travels.

Abandoned home possessed by what ?It looks like a woman to me

What’s that in the window? Ghost? You tell me.

Do you see anything in this abandoned house window? Please let me know what you think.  I took this pic from the driveway of a vacant house.  Trick of the light?
I see something that looks real.  

Tattered and torn

When I see these beauties from the past.  It reminds me of places from my childhood.   I remember, going up the hollers and visiting family that lived in homes, built like many that I photograph.  There were a lot of good memories in these homes.  Likewise, I am sure most of the ones I take pics of, had great memories too.
All homes have a past.  Had families, that loved them and took care of them.  Seeing them left to perish is so sad.  This is my tribute to their memory.

I am tattered and torn, aged and grey.
I have hung from this window, day-to-day.
Sheltered this home from the light of day.
only to be left to hang here, in disarray.
People have come, people have gone.
I have been here, for many a dawn.
You look at me, like what is wrong?
Why so weak, no longer strong?
I hang here all tattered and torn,
Waiting for the family, for whom I mourn. ©Tammy Sullivan  2015

Mansion on the hill

The mansion on the hill

Yes!  I went out on the exploration trail again.  This time I visited a large mansion on the hill.  It was built-in the early 1800’s.  Oh what  a beauty she is.  I have such a love for these places.  I have always wanted to live in one, but I know I will never be able to afford to.
I love the winding staircases and the large foyers.
I will try to explain how I feel when I walk into the large entryway.  I look up at the spiral staircase.  Eyes traveling toward the window overhead.  Oh, such detail!  To have seen this in its day was too much to ask.  I can picture young ladies, dressed in the long gowns, gliding down those stairs, hands resting, lightly on the newly dusted railings.   I can feel the breeze blowing through the large windows, as the curtains dance on the wind.  I can almost, smell the newly plowed fields, as I listened to the horses play in the barns.  This is what I sense and feel when I first walk into these beauties.  I am there to reminisce, not to destroy, steal, or mar this beauty in any way.  I want to save her by taking pictures of every nook and cranny, no matter how small.

To sit in front of this fireplace on a cool winter day, watching the flames dancing and kissing the logs, as they hiss would make for a cozy experience.   I can see and hear  the family sitting around telling stories of the past, as shadows travel across the walls, reaching out to me, as I stand in the door watching.   I connect with them in my mind.  I have no idea who they were but I can only imagine what they would have been like.  The one thing I do know is that they left this mansion for me to see and for this I am thankful.
Until next time my friends.  I will say good day.

Haunted shack that still haunts my dreams. Was she there or not?

The haunting at the shack in the woods

The weather has been so bad here, lately, that I have not gotten out to enjoy and explore.  I am getting cabin fever.  I feel like the walls are closing in on me.   While it is icy and cold here.  I have been going through my archives of pics I have taken over the years.  I came up with this one for the people who like to dabble into the unknown.  It is a true story that I can  not explain.
I was out running around, looking for things to take pics of when I came upon an old shack in the woods.  It was very small, a hunting shack maybe?  No sure.  But there was nothing around, only the trees and woodland creatures.  I stopped to take pictures of it.   I can’t explain, how I felt.  It was eerie.  You know that inner feeling you feel before something bad happens?  Well, that is how I felt.  I had a sinking feeling in my gut.  I knew I couldn’t stay long.  I was uncomfortable.  Actually I was scared!  I took some pics and left.  As I was leaving, my heart was beating so fast and loud, I swear I could hear it.   I felt like I was being chased.  This is the truth.  I was rushing to get out of this place.
When I got home, I went thru my pics and when I zoomed in on the window of the shack I saw someone looking at me.  Only in one of my pics.  It wasn’t in any of the others.  It looked like a woman or a child.  Not sure which.  But I swear to you it felt as if this person was looking into my soul.  I have always felt some woman or child had died there or maybe is even buried there.  The shack was empty and I cannot explain any of this.  I won’t even try.  But this is true and is my own pic.  I still have the original pic.
I don’t know if you can see the face or not.  Look in the window.  It is there.

There was a little shack, that set way upon a hill.
It was so dark and empty, that it gave me a chill.
curiosity got the best of me, I had to peek, inside.
But the eerie feeling I had, just did not subside.
There was nothing there,  just the open space.
Why so scary, this little, creepy, dingy place?
I left this place in a hurry, did not want to be alone.
I felt I was visited by something or someone  unknown.
I felt as if something really bad had happened here.
What it was, I don’t know.  It really wasn’t clear.
I had to get home, away from this old shack.
I knew I would never, ever want to go back
I looked at the pictures, I took of this place.
And guess what I saw in the window?  Nothing but a face.  ©By Tammy Sullivan 2015

Beware!!!

Beware of all dangers

I just heard about the woman drowning in a well, on a farm, in Nelson County, here in Kentucky this weekend.  I was heart-broken, for her and her family.  I don’t know any of the details but it made me think about me and my adventures.  I myself, have stumbled upon wells and open cisterns during my day of explorations.  Fortunately, I have not succumb to an accident.  Thank God!  It can be dangerous out there when exploring these old properties.
I remember as a child, going with my parents, to a farm they owned,  in the beautiful, state of West Virginia.  At one time a house had sat in the valley,  left now only to memories.  The house was gone but there were unseen dangers lurking.  There was an open well.  Fortunately dad knew about it  and covered it up with a piece of tin.  I guess what I am trying to say, is there can always be an unseen abyss.  Falling down a well, or into an open cistern, or through a floor, all these are things, we need to be aware of.  Even being as careful as possible.  Things can happen.
Not all that long ago, I myself. came upon, what could have been a disastrous ordeal.  We had found an old estate, that many of you, my friends, have explored before.  I have seen your pics. The property was not posted, there were no signs to be seen anywhere.  Not even painted over ones.
This was a lovely old place with massive porches, and impressive entryways.   The back of the home had caved in, the ceilings were falling in, there was garbage and feces in the stairwell, trash all over the floors.  Not to mention the graffiti.  Have you ever noticed?  Most of the graffiti found in these wonderful, old places, has to do with male body parts?  Well I have.  I don’t know how many spray painted penises that have ended up in my photos.  What is the obsession?
Well, anyway, back to my story……
I cheeped through the house, taking pictures of the fireplaces, closets, cabinets, even the wallpaper.  Many people have asked me, what draws me to these places?  Well, I guess the biggest thing is, that they will not be standing much longer, and they just don’t make places, like this anymore.  I don’t want to forget how elegant it was and what the owners had once loved.  I will never be able to own a home like this, but I can take a picture and hold on to a memory of them.  When tomorrow comes….it may be gone.  I love each and every one of them.  They are each unique, have their own character, but at one time they were full of love and had a family.  This is what I try to preserve.  Memories!
Making my way to the center of the house, toward the stairwell, I opened the door, and carefully inched up the stairs, making sure they were stable under my weight.  It was a tight, dark hallway.  I needed a light.  An explorer is never without a light.  This is a necessity.  I retrieved my light and headed up the stairs, unaware of what could be ahead of me in the dark.
I peeked around the corner and into a large, open room.  The bad thing was that, the floor was rotted and gone on one side of the room.  To me, not worth crossing.  I did not want to go down to the first floor that way.  so I ventured into the other room.  There was shaggy wallpaper peeling from the walls. closet doors were open revealing nothingness, unopened cans of drinks on the floor.  This was a sign that people hung out here. Backpacks full of who knows what?  I didn’t want to know.  There were other things, we won’t talk about.  I go to take pictures and nothing else.  I don’t bother things and I don’t want to know what goes on here when the sun sets and the stars rise in the skies.  I am just saving the mansion and its memories in pictures.
Well, have any of you ever ran into squatters during your escapades?  Not a good thing.

Hope I am as strong as you

May I be as strong as you

The snow has moved in and blanketed the area.  It is 8 inches or so.  The snow doesn’t bother me.  But the cold is another story.  It is so frigid that even the cold is cold.  Even tho’  I am not a cold weather person, I still made it out, to take some pictures, yesterday.
Making my way toward the old barn.  Trudging through the eight inches of virgin snow,  carrying my camera and tripod, looking for the awesome shot, paying no attention to the cold.  We don’t get much snow in these parts.  If we do, it is only sparsely.  And  we are able to see the grass beneath the snow.  I was really excited about getting some pictures with the blanket of white.  The snow glistening in the sun, as if it was wearing a coat of diamonds.  Beautiful, and breathtaking.
I try to see beauty in all things.  And beauty I did find in an old barn, sitting, alone, barely hanging on to what is left of its time here on earth.  It still looked strong, even tho’ it was leaning somewhat, and boards starting to rot.  I looked at it and wished that I was somewhat like this barn.  Standing tall against the elements of life.  Weathering the storms and chills that come my way, with such strength and invincibility.  I had to take a moment to admire this awesome structure.  Thinking to myself, “You are such a beauty!  You stood for years, taking everything, that was thrown at you with a stern refinement.”

Bloomfield Kentucky

Big house in Bloomfield

The big, brick, house, sat upon the hill.
Located in the small, town of Bloomfield.
Many treasures and secrets you did keep.
All the time the house would weep.
So many like me, just longed to see,
to get a little glimpse of your inner beauty.
Crimson curtains, blowing in the wind,
The color through time, slightly dimmed.
Windows trimmed with pale, green shutters
More elegant times, they seemed to utter.
What you must have been like, in the day.
Left now,  only to demise and decay.
The day that awful, storm moved in,
That was just the beginning of your end.
The lightning strikes, a fire did start.
that was the day that broke my heart.
The house I loved, that sat upon the hill.
The big, house in the town of Bloomfield.
Fire gutted you that, terrible day
Your loss, upon my heart, did weigh.
You touched my heart, and my soul.
I wish there was a way I could make you whole.
You big ole’ house upon the  hill .
In the little town of Bloomfield.   ©Tammy J. Sullivan 2015
Dedicated to the Duncan house in Bloomfield, KY
©Tammy J. Sullivan 2015

Old Taylor trip

One of my biggest thrills, was being able to shoot the old Taylor distillery.  I was given permission to go behind the closed gates and take pictures of the old place, before the restoration began.   This was a monumental moment for me.  If I could only make money doing this, it would be the best job in the world!
I am glad that someone has purchased the place and going to restore it.  Including the longest warehouse in the U.S. and the building known as the castle.  I was afraid they would tear her down.  There was so much damage done, by nature and by vandals, that I was unsure if it could be saved.
I have longed to go through it, for years.  I remember the first time I laid eyes upon the beauty.  I was speechless.  I have seen many distillery’s, but none as elegant as this one .  It DID look like a castle.  It had an old cast iron gate, which in itself was breathtaking.  It was out in the country, nothing around.  A debilitated and alluring, specter, it’s turrets kissing the pale sky, above.  It was medieval looking.  Something right out of a fairy tale.
There was so much to see.  But what I wanted to see first, was inside the castle.  I made previsions for my exploration.  I got up bright and early, packed my camera bag, grabbed a tripod, put on my steel toed shoes, a long-sleeved shirt, and loaded my jeep.  I was more than ready for my exploration.
I drove along the river, making my way toward Old Taylor.  My heart was racing, my excitement boiling.  This was a big day for me.
I got to the distillery, put my back pack on, and grabbed my tripod.  I met up with the gentleman who was going to let me spend the next couple hours exploring.  I was ready.  First stop was the castle.
I was making my way down the wet, muddy , gravel road toward the castle, heart racing, causing my strides to become longer and faster.  I had to restrain myself  from running.  This was it.  My big day.  The day I had waited 5 years for.
I searched for a way inside.  There was so much damage, that I had to work around so many obstacles to make my way into the building.  I was alone, so needless to say…I had to be careful.  There were holes in the floors, ceilings had caved in and danger signs everywhere.  But this would not stop me.
I made my way between, what I think was the cooling system, chillers, and walked up the stairs to the first floor of the castle.  It was stunning!  To the right of me was the main entryway.  To the left of me were all the vats, that the bourbon was made in.  Where was I to start?  I wanted to get it all.  Not miss a thing.
This is as far as I got that first day.

You walked away!

You walked away and left me behind

You walked away and left me behind,
leaning against the Venetian blind.
The silence all around me, is so loud.
Hanging above me, like a cloud.
They say, silence is to be treasured.
Something so rare, it can’t be measured.
But the emptiness, that I feel inside.
A hunger for friendship, being denied.
The wind through the windows, is all I can hear.
There is no family, they all disappeared.
Leaving me here, up against the wall,
Disappearing, forever, down the hall.
I am all alone, in the dark of night.
Waiting here for morning light.
I long to be picked up and played , one more time.
Instead of leaning against the Venetian blind.  Tammy Sullivan 2015

Tarnished Exquisiteness

When traveling back in time, thru photography.  You never know what you will find. There is a lot to see if you will go out and search for it.  Number one you have to get out of that chair, off the couch and go search the back roads, the country lanes,  or anywhere your heart desires.   Make your day, what you want it to be.  An adventure.  Write your own story.
While we were exploring the back roads this weekend, we came upon, what once was a magnificent, manor house.  It stood like a silhouette against the ashen sky.  Its monstrous shape declining, as the wrinkles of time,  vastly showed upon her face.  I stood in amazement, wondering what it would have  been like, to live here when it was flourishing and full of people.  As I listened to the wind blowing through the dejected, broken windows, I could almost hear the laughter ring out over the hillside.  It was, as if I could  fathom what is was like, in its heyday.
I always like to take a moment, and try to picture, what these relics were like when they were fresh and full of life.  When there were no broken windows, the doors still hung on their hinges, the walls were solid and vandals, had not, left their marks throughout the home.  Not everyone enjoys the marvels, of what once was.  But for those of us who do.   These places are treasures.  Treasures to be hunted, found and photographed.  We do not damage, scar or steal.  We do this for the gratification and search for the perfect photograph. To have something to prove, that  it once was here.  It was beautiful and commanding, for it may be gone tomorrow.
After pondering a couple of minutes about the past, I wanted to go and check out the present.  I walked to the backside of the house.  There were saplings surrounding, what once was the back porch.  The wild briars were taking over, making their way across the pathway onto the porch.  To the left of me was a hand dug well, lined with stones.  One of the many signs, of days gone by.  As I walked onto the porch, I noticed the back room was pretty much gone.  The windows were nothing less than a hole in the wall.  A fireplace that had once kept this room warm, had fell upon the floor.  A partial chimney was all that remained. So sad to see a mighty house like this falling to ruin. Graffiti covered what was left of the walls.  A common staple in these abandoned glories.   I made my way to the main part of the house.  The windows in these rooms were also just gaping holes in the walls.  My heart was broken.  I was hoping for so much more.  The doors had been destroyed.  Instead of opening the door.  I just walked thru it.  I then made my way to the stairwell, that was in front of me.  The steps were so small and narrow.  But this is the standard, in many of these old homes.  I debated on whether to climb them or not, not knowing what danger could be lurking at the top.    There was not much holding this place together, anymore.  Of course, I had to see what was at the top of the stairs.  Curiosity seems to always get the best of me.  But I must say.  I am careful.  I don’t want to take unnecessary risk.  I made my way up the tight stairwell, until it opened into a vast room. The roof above me was open.  The tin was mostly gone and the rafters were rotted. I figure it is because of the elements.  Wind, snow and rain, enemies of vacant places. Sorry to say.  Not much to see here.  The room to the left was nothing but decayed wooden floors, opened to the immense skies.  There was, no way I was going to cross it.  I knew where I would end up.  In the basement. Not the way I wanted to end my day.  instead, I returned to the first floor.
Before leaving the house I noticed a doorway, that led into the basement.  I wondered “what is hiding under the stairs?”  At one time were there tunnels?  Was this where the hid during the war?  So many questions with no answers.  The stairs were gone, access denied!  I guess, I will just have to keep wondering, “what is down there?”
I couldn’t get to the front of the house from where I was, due to the rotted floors, so I decided to take a peek inside, from the front porch.  Fighting my way thru the briars, once again, I got to the foyer.  The Front part of the house was in worse shape than the rear.  The floor was gone.  The basement was in plain view, from where I stood.  The stairs were deteriorated.  Safe?  No way!  Even with a safety harness.  I would not attempt it.  I would be afraid the whole front of the house would cave in on top of me.
As I stood there taking pics and looking around.  I noticed a bricked up doorway, in front of me, toward the back of the room, that I was standing in.  Now, this was something I have not seen before.  I could see the original framework, that had surrounded the door many years ago.  I guess, maybe they had built onto this home at one time or another.  Who knows?  Another question I would love to have answered. I left here with more questions than answers.
This is a beautiful place and I am glad that I took time out of my busy schedule to pay her a visit.  I am likewise glad I was able to capture her beauty in pictures.  Maybe, she will never again be as majestic as she once was.  But in my mind, her exquisiteness is but tarnished.  With a little love and a lot of polish she could be restored to her grandeur.  Tammy Sullivan  (Lost in the attic pics)