Escaping to the Farm (Transmission #360)

Farms come in all shapes and sizes. When I hear the word “farm,” I think of the McNabb Fish Farm in Preston (WA). Formerly a fish hatchery and amusement park, my grandparents purchased the property in 1976.

18 acres. Seven ponds, stocked with steelhead and trout. A 1500-square-foot single-family home overlooking the largest pond. A “pumphouse” (the mechanical "heart" of a local water system). A mobile home (where my great grandparents lived some of the year). A cabin, where I lived in kindergarten and first grade after my parents’ divorce. An Airstream. A greenhouse. A two-car garage with storage for every toy and tool imaginable—a riding lawnmower and, my absolute favorite part, the Kubota tractor.

Huckleberries. Blueberries. Forests. Ferns. Moss. An apple tree. Acres of grass, grass, and more grass. The Raging River to throw rocks into, as well as a swimming hole for the (few) hot summer days.

Coyotes, racoons, squirrels, black bears, deer, and birds galore. Fish, fish, and fish.

I loved every aspect of that property. As a child, it was simply paradise. Every day after school, a new outdoor adventure awaited. I would arrive home from school, have a snack prepared by my grandma, and then immediately set out to find my grandpa wherever he might be on the property (with my dog Daisy never far away). The best days were when he was out on the tractor, clearing debris or maintaining the water works. Literally all I wanted to do was ride on that orange Kubota. Though not tall enough at the time to actually press the pedal, I still remember how empowered I felt when my grandpa ceded me control of the bucket powered by hydraulics. An almost daily evening highlight was throwing fishfood and watching the glassy ponds transform into a chaotic feeding frenzy of ripples, scales, and bubbles.

My grandpa subdivided the land in 1996 and sold three lots for development of spec homes (1, 2, and 3) and my uncle sold the remaining 6.4 acres in 2019.

If you’re lucky enough to have lived on a farm, like I have, you know how magical and grounding the experience is. Most people will never live on one. But they can visit.

In fact, long before it was my grandparents’ farm, people were already traveling there for exactly that reason.

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