This town has no architecture. In the late 19th century, white folks poured in to pan for gold. They weren't planning to stay so they built nothing to last. Plywood was invented. It rains a lot. Moss and rust are happy here.
Usually, I don't take pictures of the ugliness. I look right past it to the mountains above. I wait for better weather and more daylight. I am used to the gloom and decay. Some days full strength coping strategies are necessary. But, most of the time, it is easy to find the beauty and be grateful. Just look up.