NEW YORK CITY FARM COLONY

I've now visited the New York City Farm Colony twice. Though this massive complex of ruins is within sight of a a major road, it isn't without its own devious obstacles — located in the dead center of Staten Island, hopeful visitors must make a long, perilous journey into the heart of that nasally-accented suburban darkness.  I took boats, buses, I walked along shoulderless roads, past unkempt lawns and finally through a tear in the chain-link fence separating the historic campus from suburbia.  As far as I can tell, visiting the New York City Farm Colony isn't technically illegal, as there aren't any "no trespassing" signs posted.  The land is owned by the Department of Parks and Recreation, and was designated an official landmark in 1985 after being abandoned in the late '70s.  So as far as daring adventures go, I've risked far more dangerous.  But I'm evidently not alone in finding the deserted dormitories of interest.  On both occasions that I've visited the Farm Colony, a group of paintballers were already there, pelting each other with pellets in the deep woods.  Trespassing is so much more fun when there's gunfire all around you.

I was slightly alarmed at first, and went out of my way to avoid being seen.  The Farm Colony is a massive, thickly-wooded campus of rotting buildings and shattered asphalt pathways.  Amidst that secretive landscape, when one is already trying to avoid confrontation with cops or locals, a group of young men running around shooting each other and screaming is slightly unnerving.  Still, all the forced secrecy added a bit of a thrill to the trip. On our second visit, my Exploring Partner and I decided to throw caution to the wind and make our presence known.  Trying not too hard to stare, we walked stiffly past the group of young, camouflaged men (who did not shoot us, or even verbally harass us) and went forth to do what we had gone forth to do: take pictures of abandoned buildings.  When, after an hour or so of exploration, it began to rain and the paintballers went home, we discovered the reason for that two-time coincidence: there is a full-featured paintball "course" set up in the middle of the Staten Island Farm Colony, featuring obstacles, metal shield-walls and a paint-strewn approach to an equally paint-strewn ruin.  [Paintball photo taken by Alison Yuhas.  All other photos taken by me]  I can understand their being there all the time; it looked wicked fun.  They even seemed considerate enough to stick to the field they'd set up, keeping the paint damage to a minimum, and redecorating one of the old buildings with lovely shades of pink and orange.  So, if you ever venture forth to the Farm Colony yourself: don't mind the gunshots. Consider wearing goggles.

The Farm Colony was deserted over three decades ago, yet it's hard to get a sense of just how old the place is when walking around.  Though the current H-shaped dormitories were built in the early 1900's to sustain a population of almost 2,000 workers, the colony itself was established in the 1830's.  The majority of the residents were elderly, even though they were expected to do agricultural labor in exchange for room and board.  The buildings have now fallen apart to the point of featurelessness, yet the size of the Colony makes it feel like more than a ruin.  Whenever we thought we had seen the last of it, another stone structure would pop out of the trees ahead.  2,000 people is, after all, a lot of people.  It's very much like exploring a college campus that has been left to nature.  There are hints that certain portions were adapted to the modern age — electric light fixtures and circuit-breakers can be glimpsed here and there — but many of the buildings have a vague timelessness about them, a mixture of the aforementioned amenities alongside strange mechanical contraptions and a rustic sense of minimalism.  Elevator shafts are gutted with debris and stairwells have collapsed, or are covered in leaves and dirt.  Though the graffiti is inescapable (and kind of a shame, for a historic ruin), it fits the vibe of the place and hardly stands out next to all the crumpling brick and stone.

Most of the buildings are large — three floors was the average, each with multiple wings.  The wings are usually mirror-images of each other, identifiable only through the uniqueness of their decay and the careful path one must plot up their stairwells.  Each building, too, is fairly similar to the last, and if one weren't forced to remain so hyper-aware of their surroundings due to paranoia and claustrophobia, it would be easy to become disoriented, or lost.  With almost every building quickly losing its identity to a mix of long hallways, small featureless siderooms and main chambers divided by cubicle-like walls, there isn't technically a whole lot to see within — it's the specific strangeness of the decay that is interesting, the rare finds amidst the emptiness that make the emptiness itself somehow significant.  In one terrifyingly dark hall, in a building where every window has been boarded up, a tentative survey of the dark interior revealed an empty hospital gurney in a bleak tiled room.  It was a simple scene, yet incredibly disturbing, the kind of foreshadowing that precedes distant screaming in a horror movie.  In another room, not far beyond, a fold-up bed sat in the middle of the hall for no discernible reason.  Bathroom urinals were smashed, or clogged with dirt.  One building could not be reached at all without crossing a narrow stone bridge over a 20 foot drop — and the bridge, sunken in the middle, had collected its own ankle-deep moat, a pond of brackish water that could not be avoided without toppling over the edge.

There's little left to suggest the Farm Colony's original agricultural purpose, save for the ample space between buildings and the many pathways that seem to spiral off to nowhere.  63 of the Colony's 104 acres were at one time used to cultivate crops, but now harbor only trees.  Whether one sees the site as creepy, historic, or a good place for sport, few residents of New York City would imagine that such a sprawling ruin exists within their city borders. 

While most of the buildings remain in relatively good shape, structurally, use high caution if exploring.  Courtyards and basements are mostly choked with debris, and many staircases have collapsed.  However, most of the stairs that appear to be intact are, luckily, relatively safe.  Watch out for stray paintballs.