Well, this is a farm. Ought to be some mushrooms growing somewhere around here.
You don't really remember where you got the knowledge that suddenly springs to the front of your mind, but you know what you're looking for.
You find them sprouting from a cow pattie, most likely left by one of the cows that went feral when the farm shut down. Little light brown mushrooms shaped like ugly phalluses. You pick every one of them that you can find, filling your baseball hat. You're going to go all out with this one. It's a death trip, after all. You intend to get enough of these little shrooms down your gullet that when the moment comes, you don't even notice the transition out of your body.
After about half an hour of steady picking you don't really have any room left in your baseball cap or pockets. You head back towards the main farmhouse where you parked your Jeep, idly starting to munch on a few of the caps as you go. They taste pretty much like what they grew out of, but with a slight tang of rotten flesh. You flush with anticipation, and nostalgia, and keep a keen eye out for any of the feral cows that are in all likelihood watching you from the treeline.