Abandoned and beyond Buffalo, NY

08/17/2025

Since I shared a post about Wellsville, NY yesterday, it only feels right to go a little deeper today — and highlight what truly makes this place remarkable. This town doesn’t rely on nostalgia or sentimentality — it earns its charm. Restored storefronts line the streets like stoic monuments, their Victorian windows catching the light as baskets of vivid flowers spill over in full summer bloom. The old drugstore — brilliantly repurposed — still feels like the sort of place where conversations linger longer than transactions. Even the flea and farmers markets feel less like commerce and more like curated memories.

This is the sort of place that reminds you of childhood summers — of riding bikes without a care, leaving your front door unlocked, and neighbors who keep a watchful, loving eye. A little Mayberry… but with its own rustic Western New York charm. And no trip out here ever feels complete without stopping to admire the crown jewel of the village —

— The Pink House.

An Italianate masterpiece built between 1866 and 1869, she rises from the corner of West State and South Brooklyn with the grace of a period film heroine. Original Victorian glass still flickers in the sunlight. The nine-bedroom interior remains wrapped in authentic Victorian furnishings, cared for with near reverence by the descendants of the original owner.

Edwin Bradford Hall didn’t just build a residence — he constructed a legacy rooted in intellect and beauty. The Main House, The Carriage house, The Ice House, The Fossil House (once home to over 5,500 Paleozoic fossils collected by Hall himself) still stand, expertly maintained by a full-time caretaker who treats the property like a living archive.

Wellsville might be small, but this place proves something powerful: history doesn’t have to decay to be meaningful. Sometimes it thrives — polished, protected, and cherished — waiting patiently for you to return and remember what dignity looks like.

08/16/2025

Once a proud gateway into Wellsville, the 1911 Erie Depot and the crumbling home beside it now sit in complete silence—forgotten relics of a town that once thrived on iron rails and bustling passengers. Added to the National Register of Historic Places in 1987, the station was hailed as the centerpiece in a $4.5M revitalization plan to spark economic rebirth. Promises were made. Big visions announced. Architects hailed.

This depot was supposed to be reborn as an event center and railroad museum… a transformative project “that will positively impact our community for decades to come.”

Yet here we are—over a year later—and not a single sign of progress. Just peeling paint, shattered glass, crumbling bricks and another broken promise fading into the weeds.

Source- the Wellsville Sun online
*article in comments

08/15/2025

A forgotten temple built for a society of men with common beliefs. Now a shell of its former self—breaking and eroding over time as the owners have truly no regard for its history nor the community it sits in.

Part 2
The auditorium and some of the rec center, more to come.

08/15/2025

A forgotten temple built for a society of men with common beliefs. Now a shell of its former self—breaking and eroding over time as the owners have truly no regard for its history nor the community it sits in.

08/13/2025

Once a lively Catholic school on the city’s East Side, this building has fallen silent—yet inside, the air still hums with stories. In one dusty corner, a makeshift library lingers, its shelves sagging under the weight of forgotten books. Each one feels like a secret, a relic waiting for curious hands. If given the chance, I’d lose hours here, chasing down strange titles and letting their pages pull me somewhere far beyond these crumbling walls.

08/12/2025

"The Shrine will embody the truth of the essential oneness of God's children by its invitation for all to come & worship under its illuminated dome." - Venerable Nelson Baker, Aug. 1921

08/09/2025

08/07/2025

The morgue sits cold at the edge of town, a forgotten wing of a rural hospital where the lights still burn, but no one’s been paid in years. It was all wrapped in the usual story: an LLC thick with investor cash, promises whispered in boardrooms, and a paper trail that smelled like cheap cologne and expensive lies. Money went missing. Staff kept working — until they didn’t. At the center of it all was a familiar name, the brother of a former president, who dropped 200 grand into the sinking ship in a last-ditch effort to play savior. It backfired — badly. The headlines came, the scrutiny followed, and the hospital flatlined for good around 2019, maybe 2020 — depends on who’s telling the story. The water’s been cut, the gas is long gone, but the equipment’s still inside, tagged for an auction that never showed — like everything else about the place, it was all smoke and mirrors.

Now it just waits — lit up like a crime scene, but nobody’s coming to clean it up.