The Trouble with Owning a Grain Elevator

One steel-gray afternoon in the late winter, I pulled into a snow-coated gravel parking lot along the frozen Buffalo River. Geese sat around, honking, on the ice. Looming above them was the reason for my visit: a complex of three disused grain elevators, each containing dozens of silos that towered as many as thirteen stories high. I took them in for a while, until a forest-green 1973 Oldsmobile convertible rumbled up beside me. It belonged to Rick Smith, a local industrialist who had purchased the elevators, in 2006, almost by accident.

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