High on Fairfield Bench, where the sky leans in close, a 4-bed, 2-bath house keeps watch. Five irrigated acres roll green to the horizon; corrals of wire and steel wait like half-finished sentences. A low barn smells of oats and open doors. Cottonwoods rattle their gossip along the shelter belt. Two-car garage stands ready. 4.5 miles of hush blacktop to Fairfields row of silver grain rockets.Golden barley fields surround you. Dawn cracks with meadowlarks drilling the silence; coyotes yip the night shift off-duty, and great-horned owls clock in with low who-who-who that rattles the windows just enough to remind you youre alive. At dusk the Milky Way spills diamondsno dome, no filter. Room for a garden that feeds, a shop that fixes, a firepit that hosts every tall tale youll ever tell under a lid of stars thick enough to scoop.This isnt a listing; its a dare. Bring your life, leave the noise, let the land finish your sentence you started.