I grew up in a place of abandoned houses. They were always very romantic because they were very old and made of wood. Actually, maybe I grew up in a place of abandoned horse sheds. But there was a real live abandoned hotel just down the street. And a very old house on a hill where a very old man lived (until they moved the house somewhere else years ago). We were always sneaking around his house and daring each other to run up to the wood porch.
Maybe this is why, right now, I can't resist the photographs in the Library of Congress.