Many years ago, my mother and father salvaged an old two-story farmhouse in an abandoned wheat field near Moses Lake. They used the wood to build a home in Cascade Valley. But one sunny Saturday in September, a horrifying event made them rethink the wisdom of reclaiming that decrepit homestead.
The house was stuck in the middle of an unshorn wheat field, sprinkled with sagebrush and black volcanic rock. Branches of two wiry, leafless trees pierced a cloudless sky. There was nothing else around for miles. The crumbling building had the look of a lonely, tattered child.