Abandoned farms are fascinating to me. Old building, gutted farmhouses, a million pieces of equipment . Outbuilding after outbuilding and barns. Oh yes, barns in all states of disrepair. They speak to the shrinking of the farming class, children moving away from a rural life and nobody's there to take over the farm when mom and dad get too old.
The land is leased to another farmer and is still in use. Cattle still stare at you with a suspicious eye and pheasants sneak around just as always.
This particular farm has my favorite relic. It's a Chrysler, and she's a beaut. The doors are open and inside is the June edition of some paper like the Western Stockman and cigarette butts are still in the tray. My guess is this was a reward for the farmer who finally had some great years of wheat prices and it was his baby. I can see the dust rolling down the dirt roads, rolling in style on the Palouse. Huge white cowboy hat and Marlboro lit up as Conway Twitty sang away
Today, the land yacht aint so pretty. Mice call her home and the headliner is falling onto the seats. Still beautiful in a different way as a reminder of a generation gone and a family farmhouse never to be lived in again.
Nature is taking it all back, creating more cover to find a rooster hiding about.
There's a real beauty in ruins