Across the channel from the Treadwell ruins, the boring buildings on the Rock Dump port form a community of colored boxes. Cheap and almost durable, they do the job, but nothing more; make no attempt to lift a viewer’s spirits. On the Treadwell side, the forces of decay have nibbled away at the symmetry of wooden pilings so they now squat like Naguchi inspired chess pieces on the exposed sand. In the woods, similar forces pit complex patterns into the iron pipes, gears, and valves that once served the gold mine. They even attack alder and cottonwood trees by covering graceful limbs with electric green moss. On the channel, decay delivers more beauty than architects. If only we could harness decay or organize bacteria into flying squadrons of artists.