On my grandmother's farm in Michigan she had a fruit cellar. It had all kinds of pickled stuff stored down there, most of which I never knew about. There was also a barn, an old garage that contained a 1940s Studebaker pickup truck (wish I had that truck NOW), some pig sties, some sheep enclosures, and a chicken coop with chickens from which my grandma would get a chicken to eat and wring its neck or chop off its head while I watched.
About a mile away there was a mill pond where I'd go catch clean bullheads, bass, bluegills. The water was so clean you could see down to the bottom of the pond.
I'd go out with the county road crews to spread gravel from my grandma's gravel pit, and if I was more than 2 miles from the farm while walking home from town (Howard City) the sheriff would stop and give me a ride to the farm.
I also shot my first .22 rifle there when I was in the 6th grade.