There’s a place not far from Portland’s city center—maybe a ten minute walk or so—where all remnants of city life are forgotten, where you can get a taste of a quieter, simpler life.
Here, you’re not dealing with the typical sounds of a city. You hear ducks quack and goats grunt, birds chirp and bees buzz. You’re at the Future Farm, and you’re not just popping in to say hi—you’re here for the night.
No need to settle into the farm and snuggle up to the farm animals, though. Here at Future Farm, you’ll be resting your bones in the finest of accommodations—a quaint Airstream trailer occupying its own cozy corner of the farm.
And you’ll be quite glad you did.
Not Your Average Accommodations
I had the fortune of staying briefly at the Airstream during my trip to Portland in the fall of 2012. Arriving there in the cold autumn rain, I dragged my heavy suitcase through the muddy grounds of the property, looking for a way to “check in.” After some initial confusion on my part, I obtained keys from someone inside the old “farmhouse,” a person who seemed ambivalent about my arrival.Once inside the Airstream, I relaxed a little bit. The charming, domed structure felt simple and comfortable, like any bedroom would. Raindrops fell on the roof and the awning, reminding me of an old comforting sound from the porch of my childhood home.
I wondered about the history of the trailer—who had owned it originally, where they went in it, how it came to be parked permanently at the Future Farm. It was strange being there, in a way, occupying what was clearly someone else’s bedroom when it was not being rented out. I couldn’t help examining the books, photos and knick-knacks in the trailer, trying to get a sense of the person who occupied this structure the majority of the time.
Though tempting, I resisted the urge to lie down and listen to the raindrop symphony overhead. Instead I set out onto the property, ready to explore this mini-farm and get to know its inhabitants. I came across a curious turkey and a few cranky ducks, old tenants who seemed wary of newcomers. I navigated through leafy overgrown paths until I reached a fence and met face-to-face with another farm dweller: a highly suspicious goat.
For the rest of the afternoon and evening, the farm was fairly quiet. I didn’t see another person on the farm that night, nor did I hear much activity of any kind from the house or the yard. As it got dark and light became scarce in the trailer, I did what anyone on a farm would do: I went to bed. Snuggling up under the warm blankets, I imagined myself like my farming ancestors, who must have experienced a similar tranquility at night, when the day’s work was done.