Naturally, with the threat of moving to the other side of the state looming, I started frantically looking for another farm on this side. Eastern Washington felt too far away and too different from our current comfort zone for me.
The result was yet another round of farm visits and another declined offer on a farm in an area we both liked. This particular farm was seriously overpriced. If we’d wrangled more and somehow overcame our desire to not pay more than the farm was worth, we could’ve had it. But being foolish with our available money to buy and start our farm was not an option. Especially in light of the fact that near Spokane farms similar to the farm we made an offer on appeared to sell for significantly less money.
Bummer.
So last Friday we packed up our wedding clothes and our farm paperwork and headed for Spokane. I learned a few things on this trip about the east side of the state:
First, unless the farm is located within the city limits of whatever town it is near, or is located on a highway, do not assume it will be on a paved road.I knew the mountains were full of unpaved logging roads used by timber companies and hunters, but I didn’t know whole farming communities may only have one paved road in town and that was usually the highway that passed through it. Clearly eastern Washington farming is not for sissies. My poor Jag learned this lesson well.
Our first attempt to find one of the farms on our list led us across seven miles and back down a dusty dirt road, covering the car with a fine film and providing sticky hood ornaments in the form of bees, grasshoppers, and other unidentifiable once-living insects. It was a bit of an embarrassment when we had to turn it over to a valet at the hotel in Spokane in this condition.
Second, never pre-judge a farming community, it may surprise you.
Before seeing it for myself, I was pretty sure the farms near Spokane were dry, unappealing places. Instead, we drove through soft golden hills where wheat had just been cut and hauled away. These hills went on for miles, maybe even hundreds of miles, edged by distant mountains with clusters of deciduous trees popping up on the horizon to indicate where farm buildings were. I could see forever. It stirred up memories of Arizona and I found myself responding to the views with more favor than I expected. Instead of hoping we wouldn’t find a farn we wanted, I found myself wishing we would.
Third, just because an online map service, or more than one online map service, shows you where an address is located doesn’t mean there is a dwelling at that location. It may only be a mailbox. This was true for two out of the five farms we wanted to drive-by.
Driving by
farms, especially the ‘serious’, no-paved-road kind in eastern Washington, isn’t like driving by a home for sale in your neighborhood. Farms hide out. Their mailboxes are often NOT located close to their dwellings. And the address you type into a map service online might only lead you to the mailbox.Try to figure that one out when you can see for miles while parked by the mailbox and there’s no farm nearby that resembles the one you came to see. This was frustrating. And since I am a worst-case-scenario-girl my mind immediately wondered how emergency people would ever find these farms if need be. Maybe these farmers have to haul the injured or sick people out to the mailbox for pick up when they need an ambulance like they were mailing an important package. I know, a very citified remark, but really isn’t that why everyone had to get a physical address for their dwelling place a few years back?
Fourth, either a farm will look way better in person than it ever did on the MLS or it will be significantly worse. And for the record, it usually looks significantly worse.
Fifth, hand in hand with the above, if the price is low, there’s a reason.
Our effort to find Farm No. 1 was a complete failure. We were on our way to Spokane and since the farm was on the way too, it seemed like a great time to drive by. What we eventually found, after much confused searching, were a few mailboxes, one of which belonged to the farm we were looking for, but the farm itself was no where in sight.
Farm No. 2 was the lowest priced farm. Our trip to this farm was crammed in during a short two and half hour period before the wedding on Saturday. The farm was in a lovely area of the state. Being south of Spokane, it was buried in the middle of wheat fields with stunning farms and charming small towns with miles of paved highway in between. Driving through all of these great farms lent hope that the farm we were going to see would be something special.
When we got to the small town where Farm No. 2 was located, we couldn’t immediately find the street it was supposed to be on. Having only a short time before heading back to town so we wouldn’t be late for the wedding, we quickly drove around the town's bumpy dirt roads determined not to be thwarted like we were with Farm No. 1.
Finally, we got on the right road only to find that the farm we were looking for sat on the saddest piece of land we’d seen for 35 miles. Instead of rolling hills of wheat, the farm sat at the top of a flood-prone ravine with rickety fences that allowed the bovine occupants of the fields to roam freely.
We encountered an escapee, a black angus, on the road
as we drove past the farmhouse to scope out the fifty acres of dubious land that comprised the farm. (This part of the story gets a bit fuzzy. Being as we do not yet have a farm or animals, I haven’t developed the habit of scoping out the private parts of livestock anatomy to note if an animal in my path is male or female. Therefore, based only on the fact that this specimen looked a bit on the feminine side to me – rather than beefy like a steer or bull – I will call it a cow). The cow was perched at the top of a steep slope, causing me to fear that if we scared the poor animal it would fall all the way to the bottom because there was no way to run safely down that hill, even with four feet. And, being me, I also doubted that on a snowy day Joe would safely make it down that hill. This farm was off our list.The next evening, after the wedding, we were at it again. Racing against the setting sun we pursued Farm No. 3. It was fifty-five miles north of Spokane. The big draw here, at least for me, was how far the comforts of the city stretched out into the farmland. I spotted every necessary store and fast food place a person could want within a forty minute drive from Farm No. 3. This boosted it higher up the list of favorites.
Our challenge this evening was darkness. As we traveled northward the sky became very dark with clouds and we were increasingly afraid that we wouldn’t get to the farm in time to scope it out. It had looked so promising on the MLS and we didn’t want to have to come out again on Sunday, so Joe drove with a little more daring than I liked but he got us there in time to see the lay of the land before the sun disappeared. And yes, what looked promising in pictures was not so in life (internet dating services have known this for forever – us farm hunters are still learning). The buildings pictured were all there, but they were crammed into the small open space the twenty acres afford. All the rest of the acreage was treed. Not heavily treed, but too treed for the pastures full of hay we would need with cattle.
We headed back to the hotel to turn our dusty, insect encrusted car into the valet and carry our dinner of fast food burgers up to our hotel room.
Sunday both Joe and I woke up sick with headcolds, but there were still two farms on our list to drive-by. In addition, we had the long drive back across the state to Seattle to make. We packed up early, bought fast food breakfast sandwiches, downed medicine, and headed into the country. Again it was a great drive.
The scenery was lovely, the day was brilliant and blue skied, the air was perfect – not too hot and not to cold. We felt miserable, but all this going on around us made it easy to overlook.
The closer we got to Farm No. 4 the more excited we became. There were plenty of wide fields of hay and wheat and long vistas of openness that felt absolutely wonderful. When we arrived at the little town that was nearest to the farm, we were really impressed. It was great. It had paved streets for one thing, and there were at least two grocery stores, a cute downtown shopping area and more than one gas station. Hot dang!
On the other side of town, where the farm was, the good stuff didn’t end. We only passed the road we needed once before finding it and the driveway was clearly marked. We were on a roll. When we headed down the long narrow road that led to the farm our first warning that the one we saw in the distance (nice old house, big red barn, great fenced pastures) might not be the right one, was the driveway seemed unused and the farm ahead was clearly in use. We stopped and looked around for another farm.
Remembering that the MLS pictures showed a ‘view’ of sorts I looked up at the hill ahead and saw a broad expanse of yuppie-inspired windows gazing down at us.
Joe figured that was it and wanted to just back down the long drive, but I was not the kind to back down any where and I prevailed. We continued up the winding drive to the top of the hill to find the yuppie-house but no sign of a real farm. And it was the right place, it matched the house pictures perfectly. We looked it over, as it was clearly empty, and then turned the car around and headed back to Spokane.
Farm No. 5 was on the way home, just off I-90 near Moses Lake. With our headcolds increasing in painfulness, we were only sure of one thing: we didn’t want to make this drive again too soon. So we dutifully set out to find the farm when the exit came along.
Stocking up once again at a fast food burger place (no we don’t always eat burgers – we’ve learned to become very adventurous and try other things – like fish sans buns, salads, yogurt and fruit thingys, etc.), we pulled out our less than trusty online map service maps and set out to finding Farm No. 5.
I’m going to make this long story short. One mailbox displaying the right address, miles of slightly rolling farmland and no house in view. The only house we suspected could be it looked derelict even from a distance, and believe me we approached as closely as we thought safe. All of the searching for this farm was done on the inevitable dirt roads.
In the end, Joe’s daughter had a great wedding and we had a nice time visiting with the people at our table. We liked the eastern side of the state as much as the western side, and even though the entire state is available to us now to search for a farm, it is still going to be hard. Who would have thought?
