http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/ngm/2008-01/e...
The robin’s-egg blue kitchen looks out on the brown grass of the empty plains. The gas stove lurches away from the wall, and, in the wild yard, the white bones of a deer bleach in the sun. Plaster fragments litter the floors of the rooms, and down in the cellar a galvanized wringer washer stands watch by the long-dead coal furnace. In the upstairs bedroom, a window sash has slipped and become a trapezoid framing the abandoned orchard to the west. Two old cars rust nearby, caressed by the moan of the wind. The stone footing of a vanished barn stares east at wheat and grass. Ghost towns stud North Dakota, and this empty house is just one bone in a giant skeleton of abandoned human desire.This is the place where American assumptions about the land proved to be wrong. The homesteaders believed rain followed the plow. In the grasslands of western Kansas, Nebraska, and the Dakotas, they learned better. And so for almost a century we’ve watched stranded towns and houses fall one by one like autumn leaves in the chill of October. In most of the United States, abandoned buildings are a sign of change and shifting economic opportunities. On the High Plains, they always mean that something in the earth and the sky mutinied against the settlers.Successive human waves have been bested on the High Plains of North Dakota. Indians on horseback lived a dream of motion and buffalo for more than a century before the U.S. military and hide hunters destroyed their world. For several decades in the early 19th century, trading posts thrived off fur-bearing animals until both the beasts and the traders were also gone. For three years in the 1880s, a cattle kingdom rushed into the cemetery of the bison until blizzards and drought snapped everyone back to reality.Then, around the turn of the 20th century, the railroads lured settlers, largely Norwegians and Germans, into the void with promises of homesteads. Towns were planted everywhere—what one state historian calls the Too Much Mistake—in this isolated, semiarid region until, starting with the Depression and the dust storms of the 1930s, the farms faltered, then failed. The state now holds dozens of abandoned towns. Today in western North Dakota a 3,000-acre (1,200 hectares) spread of wheat is necessary for survival, and so the ground is littered with dead towns and empty kitchens where people once painted the walls a cheery robin’s-egg blue.Greg Bjella, in his 50s, has no memory of who once lived in the house with the blue kitchen, but then there is almost a willful amnesia in North Dakota. He lives just down the road on land his grandfather homesteaded. Epping, with about 75 people, has been home to the family ironworks since 1906, a business Bjella still runs during the warmer months of the year.“We’ve even had a baby born to a family in Epping,” he says, “which I’m sure has not happened in 20 years.” Ten years ago, a strong wind ripped the front off the ironworks, and Bjella has rebuilt it in stout fashion because, he explains, “when I’m gone, it will have to stand on its own.”(1 of 4) Next >>Subscribe to National Geographic magazine.