I just got back from a weekend conference in Tonopah (central Nevada). As usual, I spent most of my lunchbreak and late Saturday night photographing the place. In her day Tonopah was known as the Queen of the Silver Camps and it was here that the final chapter in the settlement of the American West was written. During the bonanza days, Tonopah had a population of 10,000 and sprawled over the hills. Now most of the place has fallen into the dust. Today Tonopah is a tribute to high hopes, hard times, bad winters and not so quiet desperation. Even the old, boarded up church on the hill had its time of reckoning and the moon herself lays low when she's in town as though even she dreads the undertow.
In Tonopah, nothing and no one is taken for granted. In a place as lonely as this, the ghosts are not only tolerated, they are a welcome part of the town's citizenry.
There's a Bird Garden Buffet in Tonopahbut for some crazy reason it's not open to pigeons! Plonk would definitely not like Tonopah but it's is my kind of place, a wreck and a relic. Tonopah has good coffee, generally friendly neighbors and history. What more can one ask for?
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