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March 7, 2004
The old water towers balance atop the city with awkward grace – while squat and cumbersome something in their very height, in the soaring beams of iron and steel that hold them aloft gives them a lightness that seems to defy logic and expectation. Their wood is dark, ancient and water stained, patched with rust-red and rot. There is something of a ghost town about them – the crumbling general store, the abandoned train depot, the haunted skeleton of the old lumber mill. They were the pioneers that first dared the sky, and for their troubles, were the first to be forgotten.