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Firesign Family Farm, 7500 Trotters Lane, Whitmore Lake, MI (2026)

06/06/2026

Oh, blessed rain! And in quantity to really do some good; soaking the pastures, drenching the gardens. And in its wake leaving very little on my To Do list for the day. I have a couple easy-sized mulberry bushes to plant into the now pre-moistened soil. A dog, Sebastian, that could use a haircut, especially with the quite warm temps predicted for later in the coming week. Of course there are customers to accommodate this morning after the always chores and I noticed there are some ripe strawberries to be picked. Probably some late asparagus but that’s really winding down. There’s celery, green onions, kale, bok and pac choi, and thinnings to be had from the young plantings of beets and chard - all of which can be included in the big bowl of fresh mixed lettuces that will be assembled for the weekend’s salad grazing; I’ll address this sometime through the morning as customers come and go.

We instituted limited hours for milk distribution sometime ago now and it’s been a game changer for both addressing the “always something” needs of the farm and gardens, and my personal outlook on being a retail outlet. Now customer traffic is limited to an hour and a half mornings Monday through Saturday, only a half hour in the morning on Sunday, and one hour late afternoon during the week. It has been working quite well to putter away at things needing done, but easily left off and near-by the house, during those time blocks then to have the free stretches on the weekend afternoons right up to evening chores? Blissful! And as an added bonus we are only milking ONCE A DAY right now; 5 cows and 6 goats. Talk about a vacation! Not milking in the afternoon also gives flexibility in just when the afternoon chores, consisting of water checks, hog feeding, egg gathering and very little else, occur. 4:00? 6:00? Anywhere in between? And so easily accomplished by just one of us. I almost feel retired, where’s my gold watch?

We do have two heavy bred cows, Freya and Annabelle, so by mid July (Freya) and then again mid-August (Annabelle) we’ll be adding them back in the line-up and they’ll need attention twice a day. And with both being fresh and one of them (Freya) a first timer, the party will be over and afternoon chores will again be a noticeable more than one person obligation. The watch will have to be returned. We’ll also be back in the milk surplus business; currently the once a day is easily accommodating customer demand but leaving little or no extra for making cheese, yogurt, sour cream, butter etc all of which fall within my purview. So again, my game will uptempo by late summer. But for now I am reveling in the lesser load.

The puppies are four weeks old today. How time flies and to think by the time we’re back to twice a day milking they will have gone off to their new homes. Except for the one we’re keeping of course. Fiona will be at Tracy and Dana’s, unnamed little boy puppy will be at Rebecca’s, Hope will have fetched theirs home, and the other three, all females, will have (probably) been handed over to new families. I’ve yet to advertise them anywhere but as occasional mentions here but will be doing so sooner than later. In the meantime, however, they’re all here providing endless viewing enjoyment as they become increasingly boisterous and playful. When they’re awake; bounce, chew, wrestle, rock and roll goes on for several minutes then they all crash in a heap of sleep. With so little on my docket for today I will no doubt indulge in playing with puppies. And the little video of them during outdoor time yesterday allows you the same, if only for a brief while. Puppies for such a brief while. Vacation equally brief. Heightens appreciation.

06/05/2026

I’m going to have faith in the predicted rains this evening and overnight; should they fail to realize I know what I’ll be doing again tomorrow - dragging hoses around. This will include, in addition to all the vegetable garden plantings and rearrangements in the flower beds, giving the newly planted trees another soaking. This has been done daily since they were planted on Wednesday and will continue with frequency throughout the summer. By hose if Mother Nature fails to deliver in the form of rain.

Oh yes, in addition to the heavily treed fence lines, several acres of woods, and many, many other trees randomly occurring around the property, we decided we needed 4 more in the backyard. Two sugar maples, one burr oak, and a native red maple; the oak and sugars are native Michigan trees. By luck, good or bad depending on your point of view, the digging of the sizable holes to accommodate the planting of the around 12’ trees, coincided with my struggles with the blooming cottonwoods and I sat out the main effort. Peter and Paul did all the work, the hole excavation, skidding the trees from the truck to their positions, wrestling them into place, backfilling with compost, then hosing them in. They look very happy in their new locations.

In all fairness, they looked quite happy in their previous home. We bought them at the Earth Art Garden Center on N. Territorial. Just around the corner from us and one of our favorite local vendors. Can’t say enough good stuff about these folks and highly recommend them should you be in the market for trees, shrubs, bushes, vines, and perennial flowers. They have an assortment of mulches and landscaping substrates as well. Lots of advice, lots of information and planting tips, and just friendly neighbor type conversation is also available for the asking. It’s one of those places where, were money and space not a consideration, you could wander the rows all afternoon pointing and declaring, “one of those, one of those, one of those” etc etc.

Did you know, despite in common parlance the two words being synonymous, that in proper horticultural terminology there is a difference between a bush and a shrub? While both depict shortish woody, multi-stemmed plants, a shrub is considered the more civilized of the two. Intentionally planted to be featured in a deliberate landscape, manicured and maintained for its specific inclusion in a manmade scenario. A bush, on the other hand, is Nature’s understory growth, wild and untamed, dense, maybe even messy or scraggly looking. Given the choice, I would rather be a bush than a shrub should reincarnation as one or the other be in my lot.

I would be even more content to come back as a tree, preferably one like the burr oak we just planted. With a life expectancy measured in the 100s of years, an easily attained height of 100 feet, with a canopy spread to match, a mature burr oak is best described as magnificent. What a joy it would be to have part of one’s essence incorporated into such a life form, to flirt with eternity as the Earth’s energy flowed through your roots and reached for the Heavens. But I’ll be happy with being a scraggly, untamed, wild growing bush. That’s if something herbaceous is my next go ‘round. What I’d really like is to be one of our farm dogs.

06/03/2026

I’ve written a couple of essays about our cottonwood trees; the following re-issue is the more complimentary. Don’t get me wrong, I love our big old cottonwood trees and cherish their music. But their pollen is not so user friendly and I’ve spent these past few days playing footsies with a niggling headache, and with a stuffy nose and eyes that just feel thick for lack of a better description. No, I do not indulge in pharmaceuticals to combat the symptoms, relying instead on stubborn whining and a brief afternoon siesta. Their blooming season will soon pass, especially if we get the much needed rains in the forecast for this weekend.

A moderate breeze through the upper reaches of the cottonwood trees sounds just like a gentle rain on crisp autumn leaves. Should that same wind freshen in intensity it sounds just like a car coming up through the woods when the roadbed is riddled with water filled potholes. More of a splooshing than a pitter pat rustling. Both worth a pause for sensory indulgence, not to mention to check for rain or approaching visitors. And while the most gentle of wind wafting won’t make a sound, it will set the leaves to dancing where their silver undersides catch the light and are every bit as deserving of note. We have several large, very old cottonwoods on our farm; indeed they are common in this region as they are throughout North America. And while they are considered only moderately useful for firewood, shade, or lumber they do have the ability to delight the senses.

Unless the sense in question is olfactory and then, if you’re prone to seasonal allergies, their enthusiastic pollination and subsequent seed distribution may cause some distress. These trees seek to populate the world by releasing tiny white poofs of genetic material in early June. Some years this spewing will resemble a smattering of snowflakes; other years, such as this one, a veritable blizzard. Filling the air to gather in drifts on surrounding surfaces, blanketing the driveway and turning the surface of the pond into a white fuzz. Tickling the nose into sneezing spasms and filling the eyes with a gritty itch. The posted photo is from yesterday evening; all the white specks are cottonwood snow.

Another asset of the cottonwood is its ability to thrive in wet ground; indeed its preference for such conditions. This trait can be used to readily assess the water table in a region; if cottonwoods are plentiful then so is either surface or barely subterranean water. Emerging from our woods as you approach the house reveals a couple big old cottonwoods to remind you of why it is so difficult to keep our road in decent shape. Look to your left as you approach the pond - look left and up - and the cottonwoods that provide our music, dancing light, and snowstorms, will be evident among the tree line running to the east. These trees tell you there is a crick running through that low area and while it may not be apparent during very dry periods of the year the trees always attest to its presence.

There are cottonwoods to the right also, growing along the pond’s edge and foresting Mt. Ruthmore. Mt. Ruthmore is the sizeable mound we created when the pond was dug out years ago and we elected to leave the diggings in a big pile instead of spreading them over the fields. It has been an interesting process watching as Mother Nature took possession of the barren pile of dirt and clothed it in native trees and shrubs. A [very small] mountain where now cottonwoods reign supreme. It’s a good place to go and sit, high above the surrounding pastures. And close your eyes to just listen to whatever the trees have to say.

06/01/2026

That’s Tracy and Dana’s puppy entering stage left; they chose her for the heart shaped white mark on her head. “My puppy”, as I’ve been claiming for the past couple weeks, is the bigger of the two males. He’s nearly indistinguishable from the biggest female in that they both have the fullest white neck ruffs with complete facial blazes. And as of last night the grandsons have decided on the other male who started out as the runt but has made up the distance and now must be external genitalia checked to be sure which one he is. Hope wants a female and so far I don’t think they’ve settled on a particular one. Leaving three females to choose from should you be thinking a Corgi puppy would make the perfect addition to your family. They hit the three week old mark this past Saturday and will be ready to leave for new homes at the end of July, early August. By then they will have overcome these early mobility wobbles and be galloping around the yard. They’ll be eating solid food full time though we’re likely to be supplementing with a little goat milk because we can. They’ll be wagging their long plumey tails because we don’t believe in docking. Wrestling with each other as they tumble about in the grass. Yipping, yapping, cuteness overload. And, as their individual personalities emerge along with their physical maturation, we may have decided on a different favorite. It’s said that often a puppy chooses you rather than the other way around so it may not even be our doing. Anyway, this is a semi-official notice that we have a few puppies for sale. They’re 900.00 each and if you’re interested you can text me at 734 449 0247 for further details. That’s my son Paul in the video with the puppies in case you were wondering. It’s nice to put faces with names you’ve been reading about, isn’t it?

05/31/2026

Alan, the father of my children and good friend ex-husband, is putting in a new dock at his place on Portage Lake. The old, and they’re real old, wooden sections have come here to be added to a bonfire pile. Very few things make as satisfactory a bonfire pile as do sections of old wooden dock! Another thing an old wooden dock is good for is setting up a goat kid pen shade/play structure. Complete with the old ladder.

Almost like at Christmas, when toys are assembled whilst the children sleep so as to surprise them in the morning, we assembled the platform in late afternoon when the babies were out to pasture with their moms. The current routine for another couple weeks until the plug is finally pulled is the kids are by themselves in their pen all day until we go out for afternoon chores at which time they’re reunited with moms for a few hours. Then separated again later in the evening around 8:00. This allows them to do the afternoon milking for us; we’re really liking the milking once a day routine we’re indulging in right now.

And when we brought them in last night - surprise! I’ll let the video do the rest of the talking; it’s long at several minutes but maybe you just want to sit back and gain distance from the swirling chaos of life by losing yourself in the utter joy of goat kids with a new toy. We watched them a lot longer than we filmed and expect there will be more minutes so indulged today. Utter joy, what could be better?

05/30/2026

The geese (that no longer live here thank you very much!) were known to come up the deck steps and wander into the house on temperate days when we leave the doors open. Quite common for chickens to do so during the off-garden-season when they free range the entire farm; they’ve learned where the dog food bowls are. We brought Dominic donkey into the house when Aunt Carol was still alive and would come for her farm vacations. And baby goats a plenty; sometimes for their therapeutic needs and sometimes to visit people. Especially Aunt Carol and again my Mom during her time here on Hospice. We housed a calf in the entry way during a damaging cold spell one winter and kept our good Icelandic ram, Pascha, similarly accommodated indoors one hot summer stretch when he needed refuge from biting flies during recovery from an injury. I walked my horse, Fancy, up the steps and into the house when she was a youngster just to say I did it.

Ducklings, chicks, and a blind gosling all have been nurtured within the protecting walls of the house. We have to discourage the barn swallows from building nests indoors as they fly in and out at will through the left open doors. One year we didn’t notice for quite some time that one had nested in one of Peter’s ice skates hanging on a hook in the laundry room. It ended well with the skate relocated just outside the laundry room door under the eaves for the duration of incubation and fledging. Snakes, turtles, salamanders, fish, frogs, toads, and various insects, have been hosted within these walls for brief educational stays and of course our desert Sulcata tortoise, Emerson, spends his winters inside with us.

Mice a plenty call our home theirs and the impressive population of teeny tiny sugar ants that share our lodging are both a source of consternation and amusement. Spiders we co-exist with in noticeable numbers; we hope they’ll eat some ants but they seem content with the also numerous flies. Dogs - don’t forget the dogs! Always a pack of these favorite four footed friends in residence. Cats very rarely however as Pete's allergic but we have had them over the years, mostly in the barn.

And now, for the first time in my knowledge, we have a chipmunk indoors, currently under the cheese fridge just inside the sliding door. Uninvited, and most certainly unwelcome, and causing the dogs no end of snuffling, scratching, and whining at the base of his refuge. The deck door is wide open again after having been closed for overnight, and I can only hope he finds his way back out and is so traumatized by the experience that he does not repeat the ingress. I have not minded all the other creatures we’ve shared our space with but I do not want a chipmunk in here with their propensity for chewing anything and everything plus the ruckus the dogs create announcing its presence. At 2:45 a.m. Out damned rodent, out I say! Back where you belong in the wild embrace of the Silver Maple tree!

05/29/2026

With the garden all planted it’s now time for the three week drought to settle in. Thus I will add drag hoses around to water everything to my list of Keep Busies. This list is an adjunct to the To Do and is more in my head than on paper as are the myriad of other repetitious activities available to choose from. Like weeding the flower beds or sweeping the barn aisle; never one and done if even for just a few weeks or months. And watering is best done either very early in the day or in the evening unless it’s cloudy. Then, on a cloudy day, it can be done whenever. The ground is still saturated from the recent rains so it’s not critical but I expect to be dragging hoses soon.

It will be nice to listen to the Chimney Swifts chittering about whilst I do so. They’ve returned yet again and are easily heard as they swoop about the barnyard through the day and converse about whatever it is Swifts discuss in the chimney overnight. The rest of today’s reading is the again repeat Chimney Swift essay from years ago, though I haven’t shared it since 2022 so there may be some of you to which it is new. Or maybe, like me, you just don’t get tired of the chance to once more be thrilled by these special yearly visitors.

Here we go again - It is difficult to convey the essence of a Chimney Swift population without benefit of audio. They are a drab colored species lacking the bright orange flash of an Oriole, the striking red and black of a Tanager, the cheery bird feeder presence of the Chickadee, or obvious lawn hopping visibility of a Robin to draw your attention. The "winged aerial cigar" (Roger Tory Peterson) silhouette high in the sky as shared in the first photo is likely to be the only view you'll have of them unless you stick your head up your chimney with a flashlight to illuminate the interior.
And you'll be lucky indeed to even see them in flight as they are an increasingly rare species; this is being mainly attributed to pesticides diminishing insect populations and directly or indirectly poisoning the birds themselves. The use of stainless steel flue liners in newer chimneys is also a contributing factor. We are lucky here at the farm to have a robust population that has returned from their wintering grounds in South America to house themselves and rear their young in our at first rarely used and now never used chimney. This is the fifth, maybe sixth, year of their appearance and I now look for their return with the same anticipation with which I await the Sandhill Cranes, Redwing Blackbirds, Turkey Vultures and other seasonal avian visitors. Yes, even the ubiquitous Robin. They first came to my attention because of the thrumming noise they make when at rest in the chimney. Hard to describe; it sounds like a well insulated deeply purring engine engaging for but a few brief seconds. From within the chimney where to my knowledge no motor had been installed. There would also be a spate of chittering most associated with squirrels or some other unwelcome rodent. When I explored - head up the chimney with a flashlight - I found several small, gray birds as depicted in the second photo, clinging vertically to the (non stainless steel lined flue) chimney mortar. Though I'd never seen them before I knew enough about birds in general to guess at their species and subsequent research confirmed my hypothesis. Oh, happy day!

Perhaps this would be seen as unwelcome by some but I for one am proud to host these rare insect devouring birds for the few short summer months they're around. If we wanted to use the chimney during the cold months for sure we would need to clean it thoroughly after the birds departed; by the way they are a protected species so it's illegal to oust them while they're nesting. Anyway, we so rarely used the fireplace since installing a wood stove some years back that we're fine with abandoning its use completely to the benefit of the birds.

Back to the audio - I notice the Swifts constantly now that I know what to listen for as they also chitter twitter non stop while winging over the farm day and night. These birds seldom rest and their activities can be enjoyed continually from early May until early autumn; one day I'll suddenly become aware of the silence signaling their departure just as the delightful chittering music of their arrival had caused me to look up and notice they had again returned. Next time you're here, if during their season of visitation, remind me and I'll point them out to you winging over the garden. If you're lucky you can watch them diving into or bursting out of the chimney top. I'll even give you a flashlight and let you stick your head up the flue to share the Aha! moment that delighted me so those years back when I first made their acquaintance.

05/28/2026

The Corgi puppies will be three weeks old this Saturday morning and are becoming increasingly mobile as they gain use of tiny legs beyond squirmy swimming motions. Their eyes are open. And they had their first solid food yesterday morning as we gave them dabs of the broth/kibble/egg/ground beef moistened breakfast mix all the dogs get. I thought there’d be a learning curve with the solids introduction but, oh no, they knew exactly what to do and gobbled it up. We will continue this small morning feeding from this point and gradually increase the amount over the next few weeks until they’re actually getting bellies full by the time they’re five weeks old. Frequency of feedings will also tot up from this just once a day to twice, then three times a day. By the five week mark the pups will be bouncing and galloping all over the place and we will be even more thankful for the big fenced in back yard than we already are.

I suspect by then the four of us who are for sure taking a pup will have started to identify our favorite. Tracy and Dana may have already done so with the chunky female who has a white heart shape on her head. I’ve been calling the biggest male “my puppy” from the git go but in reality have not really chosen; I think dogs themselves should have a say in the matter and won’t choose hard and fast until personalities develop. There is some truth to picking an opposite gendered puppy when there’s already a dog in the house which may lean Becca and family towards one of the two males but if you know what you’re doing animal wise - as Becca surely does - it shouldn’t matter which s*x you choose. And Hope et al want a female for sure.

Leaving three unspoken for. We’re not anticipating any difficulty in finding good homes for the three and this isn’t really a “want a puppy?” post though you could drop me a text if you want to get in line for consideration. We won’t let them leave here until they are 8 weeks old so there’s plenty of time to concern ourselves with a final disposition. And hey, worse case scenario I get to keep four! That will sure make choosing easier though I expect it would put considerable strain on my relationship with my farming partner sons. Anyway, not worried about it now. Puppies - what could be more quintessentially Spring on the Farm!

05/27/2026

As “real” farms go, we have very few items around here that require maintenance. By “real”, I mean not to be confused with a “hobby” or “gentleman’s” farm, both entities that denote an operation existing as secondary to any self-supporting income generated from the farming activities. “Real” farms, for the case of argument and this essay, make money. Or at least all the blood, sweat, and tears that go along with their operation is intended towards that end. And, as real farms go, we have very little in the way of infrastructure to keep this one going that requires regular maintenance. What we do have is:

Fencing - this necessity takes constant monitoring to ensure its integrity and minor (tighten a run of wire) or major (cut up a fallen tree) repairs as needed. Frequently nothing more is needed to remedy a breach than a pair of side cutters and some lengths of wire.

Chain Saws - a big one and a not so big one that come in handy to address the tree that fell on the fence. Also occasional grounds maintenance and the on-going firewood supply operation. Keeping the cutting chain sharp, the unit clean, the gas fresh, and the oils topped are easy to
do.

Zero Turn lawn mower - once in a while blade sharpening or exchange, keep it clean, top the fluids, and cover it when idle so the birds don’t p**p all over it is all this machine needs.

Brush Hog mower - same as for the zero turn and this machine sees even less use so less effort to keep it running.

Tractor - such a vital piece of equipment but even it makes few demands on us for upkeep. Change some filters, keep fluid reservoirs full, and monitor the exhaust outlet to make sure mice aren’t building a nest in it again. They can do this overnight and, until you notice the straw and feathers sticking out, will cause “why isn’t the tractor running smoothly?” consternation. Our current tractor is still quite new so replacing hoses, maybe a new seat, and addressing any major mechanical issues should be far in the future.

We do not have haybines, rakes, tedders, and balers to maintain - we buy all our hay from Ryan E. We do not have plows, discs, harrows, combines, gravity wagons, planters, seeder drills, cultivators, sprayers, green choppers - we do no field cropping and trust all our locally sourced non-GMO grain purchases to Nick H. and family. All our in-use acreage is rotationally pastured, surrounded by those miles of fencing we keep an eye on.

Our dairy operation is very low tech - no milking machines; we do all our milking by hand. No automated bulk chill tank, no electric cream separator, no commercial bottle washer. No manure conveyor or in barn skid steer; we have pitchforks, s**t shovels, and wheel barrows. No feed grinder, or push button feed dispenser; we use dead chest freezers from which to fill buckets using hand scoops to dispense that good locally sourced grain we give our livestock.

I think it’s safe to say by far our essential farm units requiring the most maintenance are our own bodies. And even their demands are simple - fuel, rest, occasional dosages of NSAIDs, and restorative pauses to appreciate the fruits of our labors. And bandaids. We go through a lot of bandaids. Even to the point where we have regular maintenance routines referred to “plugging holes” whereby topical ointments are applied to the various scrapes, scratches, cuts, splits, punctures, and slivers that regularly occur as hazards of the trade, all to then be covered with appropriately sized bandages, gauzes, and tapes. These plugging holes operations, when addressing affronts to the hands and digits, must be repeated frequently throughout the day as milking operations, immersion in water, digging in dirt, and general additional wear and tear will require their removal, re-application, or upgrade. Plugging holes is always a last minute bed time ritual too as - post showering, dinner dishering, teeth brushing - the covering of accumulated boo-boos always help with a good night’s sleep. It’s almost time for morning chores now so I’m off to get dressed and gather low tech milk. But first I have to take off last night’s finger bandaid collection.

05/26/2026

One thing I’ve learned about getting older is I can no longer go fishing without my glasses. Oh, minus my specs, I can fetch the pail for water, should I manage to catch anything, I can find worms easily enough, especially with the ground wet as it is. I don’t have trouble actually zeroing in on the pond, traversing the yard to get there, stopping short of the edge so I don’t fall in. Baiting the hook is doable, operating the reel and casting onto the water - check. But when the line inevitably winds itself on the pole; well the intricacies of remedying that situation are beyond my old age enhanced nearsightedness.

So two nights ago, having gone through the motions of all of the above, including winding the line around the pole, and with my glasses having been left behind at the house, I just put it all away and gazed for long minutes at the pond itself. Reveling in the evening’s setting sun backlighting the surrounding trees and shrubs and creating the mirror image in the water’s glassed surface. And thinking about all that we see just enough of in everyday life to get by but not quite grasp the gamut of where it plays in the grand scheme of things. Take the morning mist that I’m looking at right now as the daylight breaks and the cool overnight air that has pooled at ground level condenses as it rises and meets warming layers of atmosphere, creating an opaque layer of poetic delineation between the pasture and pond surface and the clear air above. We see the romance, the nostalgia. The lines of a favorite song may paint our thoughts. But how often do we dwell on the important ecological interplay of these moisture droplets and the surrounding environment that this phenomenon enables?

Now there is a big difference in the benefits of our local mists and those of a place like the super arid Namib desert where specialized insects, microfauna, and reptiles rely on the morning’s condensation as their sole source of hydration. But our own mists, beyond our everyday sight, play their own vital role in the life with which they interact.

Never did catch a fish. Didn’t catch one when I tried again yesterday evening. But I did see the reflection of the trees mirrored in the still waters. Now shrouded by the mist.

Firesign Family Farm

06/06/2026

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