The Grain Elevator at Broken Bow

The grain elevator at Broken Bow, Nebraska, is a grey tower of poured concrete and painted steel, and it is the first thing that tells a traveler this is Broken Bow. The tower is a row of cylindrical silos bound together, a square headhouse on top, and a corrugated leg that runs the height of the structure. The leg houses a continuous bucket line, a loop of steel scoops that carries grain from the pit at the bottom to the spouts at the top. The headhouse holds the machinery that turns the line and directs the grain to one silo or another. The silos are close-packed and share walls, their concrete weathered to a pale, even grey.

At the top of the headhouse, a row of small windows looks out over the surrounding buildings. The glass is coated with dust on the inside, so only the outlines of the town show through. The headhouse roof is flat, with a metal rail around a maintenance hatch. A ladder is bolted to the side of the leg, and it runs from a concrete pad at the ground to the top without a break. The rungs are steel, worn bright in the middle where boots have touched them.

The grain enters through a grate in the concrete apron beneath the leg. A truck backs up over the grate, and the driver releases the load into the pit. The pit is a concrete box set into the ground, and the bucket line lifts the grain out of it and up the leg. At the top, the grain travels through a long spout that pivots over the tops of the silos. The spout is a steel tube with a hinged chute, and a chain moves it. When the spout is aimed at the right bin, the grain pours in, and the silo fills from the bottom, settling as it goes.

The dust is the elevator's own residue. It comes off the grain as it falls and coats the interior of the silos, the inside of the leg, and the floor of the headhouse. It is a fine tan powder that hangs in the air when the machinery runs and settles when it stops. The walls of the silos are lined with it up to the level where the grain has stood, and a line shows where each bin was filled last. The spouts are worn bright inside by the friction of the grain.

The man who runs the elevator works in a room inside the headhouse. The room has a row of levers and a label for each bin. The levers route the grain, and the man can feel the condition of the machinery in the steel plate floor. Every click and grind travels up through the building. He knows the bins by number and by the sound they make when grain hits them. An empty bin gives off a low drumbeat; a full one makes a dull thud. He can tell from the roar of the bucket line how full the pit is.

The elevator was built for the railroad. The tracks run behind it, and the leg has a downspout that reaches over the rail spur. A railcar sits beneath the spout, and the same bucket line that fills trucks can fill a car by moving one lever. The grain falls into the open hatch of the car, making a high, shifting sound. The spur is long enough for a string of cars, and in the busiest weeks the elevator runs day into night, loading car after car. The dust from the loading lies on the ties and the tops of the cars.

The concrete of the silos is old enough that the surfaces have worn smooth in places and rough in others. Repairs appear as patches of a slightly lighter grey, troweled over earlier cracks. The steel leg is painted, but the paint has faded, and streaks of rust run down where water leaves the top. The downspout at the top of the leg is dented from being moved into place so many times.