CHAPTER 2 -?* The Lutz Farm

CHAPTER 2 -—* The Lutz Farm 

It is 1984. The Ann Arbor Farm Tour is visiting the Lutz family farm. 

It is my first encounter with Bill Lutz. My mother is visiting from India, 

and the tour seems like a good way to show her the countryside.1 

We pack into my little Honda Civic and wind our way to the 

Lutz farmstead, heading south out of Ann Arbor and west out of 

Saline. We arrive a bit late to find Bill holding court on the sloping 

lawn in front of his farmhouse, talking about his farm to an admiring 

group. Most are in their blue jeans and have aspirations for a "close 

to the land," 19605 lifestyle. An older woman sits in a chair on the 

front porch of the farmhouse, listening and working on something in 

a bowl in her lap. She is Bill's mother and helps with direct sales of 

apples out of the big barn. Bill is at ease in front of people and explains 

his self-reliant approach to making a small-acreage farm profitable. 

He proclaims that he is a bachelor, self-effacingly claiming no 

one has come along whom he pleased. In that group are women who 

would happily dispel that notion. The impression is of an intelligent, 

handsome farmer, well attached to his land and family, making 

smart decisions to stay viable as a family run farm. Clearly farming 

is in his blood. Equally clear is the hard work it entails. Bill reminiscences 

about his father, recently deceased, who in his eighties fell out 

of an apple tree he was pruning and says "he never was the same after 

that." The story stays in my mind. 

The Lutz Farmstead 

The Lutz farmstead makes evident that its farm buildings are essential 

tools of an actively worked farm. Old and new buildings mingle, 

are being used, have been modified, adapted, moved, torn down, 

and new ones constructed, all in service to the farm enterprise. New 

metal-fabricated buildings dot both sides of the farmstead. The 

farmhouse is old, with traditional lines and porches, one facing the 

road and another on the side. The big barn, with its simple gable 

roof, is charming. 

The Lutz Farm 37

Every day, in the early 

morning and evening, 

Bill could be found in 

the basement of his 

barn, milking the cows. 

" '"°I"'*5« 

The big barn is essential to this farm. It houses dairy cattle in the 

basement, an apple-sorting machine on the threshing floor, and hay. 

It has hand-hewn beams. Bill appreciates its historical worth but describes 

it practically: "The size of this barn is 34 feet by 58 feet. The 

milk house was added in 1950. The little addition at the back where 

I keep the calves was made in 1982, the same time I remodeled the 

barn. The front of my barn looks very very much like it did—very lit- 

38 MICHIGAN FAMILY FARMS AND FARM BUILDINGS

tie change. To me the most interesting thing about this barn is that 

[ridge] beam. It is 12 inches by 12 inches and 58 foot long, and as far 

as I know there is only one little notch in the whole thing. That was 

quite a tree at one time. My dad talked to a fellow who was present 

at the time of barn raising, and he said that they cut 10 foot off the 

end of it. The barn was raised eleven years before my dad was born, 

in 1884. The 1874 Washtenaw County atlas shows the original barn . 

It burned sometime around 1878. It was on the same spot, about 

there or 4 feet further north and probably 8 feet closer to the road. 

You used to be able to see the wall of that old barn. 

"When I was a kid they kept the horses in six or seven stalls in 

this barn. Facing them were eight stanchions for the cows. And in 

1950 my father tore out the horse stalls and put in more stanchions 

for cows. In 1948 he got rid of the last of his horses. He got the first 

tractor in 1939 and his combine. Sometime in '38 they were thrashing 

and my mother did quite a lot of work getting the grain around and 

sometime that year she had a miscarriage. My father sort of blamed 

that on making her work so hard, so he bought a tractor and combine 

the next year. When I got back from the army this barn had been redone 

a number of times. In 1982, when I remodeled, I put in the steel 

beams. The first concrete floor was laid in 1913. They had horses tied 

one side of the partition, the cattle to the back, and in the middle a 

hay box that they threw hay down into. They had sheep running 

around the back, and I think they had pigs in the barn, too." 

Bill's deliberation of the cost versus technology equation in selecting 

the type of silo he built reveals how he stays viable with a 

farm this size. He says: "That silo was built in 1981. My grandfather 

built the first silo in 1914 on the same spot. It was a wooden stave 

silo, 10 feet by 30 feet. That was the typical way to store the silage. 

They fed it by hand inside the barn. It was too small and somewhat 

dilapidated. I moved it to the top of the hill. I am using it still as a 

corncrib. I put new doors on the middle; the old doors were in very 

bad shape. I store my feed grinder and tractor there. 

"I did not build the new silo. I hired it done. There is a platform 

in the middle on a pole that the fellow stands on and they raise it. It 

takes specialized equipment to put one of those together. It would be 

foolish to do it yourself. I don't know any farmer who puts up his 

own. They put the blocks up in about one day's time. It really 

doesn't take that long. It is a Rochester silo. The company headquarters 

are in Rochester, Minnesota. I think the crew came out of 

Rochester, Indiana. There is a local dealer here in Michigan, but he 

doesn't do anything but sell the silo. Silage is whole corn. The plant 


The cows spent their 

days in the pasture and 

came back in the 

evening when Bill 

called them. They all 

knew their stalls and 

position in the barn. 

is cut and chopped up when it is relatively green and put in the silo. 

And then it ferments. They calculated that a silo of that size, filled 

with corn silage, the capacity should be about 190 tons." 

Like his father and grandfather, Bill adds to his farm buildings 

as, and when, he needs to. Most of the buildings are constructed 

with economy and efficiency in mind. He says: "There are only two 

buildings on here that I am sure were here when the Reynolds [the 

family who first farmed this land] owned it—the house and the 

building that was an icehouse. At the time the barn burnt, that building 

was there. I know because Dad said his father told him that when 


the barn burnt they fixed up temporary stalls for Mr. Reynolds' 

horses in that building. I think the smokehouse was, too. But I am absolutely 

sure of only the two. That pigpen, too, probably was there. 

"I am just guessing that the windmill was put up sometime between 

1908 and 1918.1 don't know when the woodshed was built. It 

is a big woodshed. They needed a lot of wood to get through the 

winter. When I wanted a shop, Dad made a little workbench for me 

in one part of it. But it is cold out there. The top part of the pigpen 

was used as a shop some time. My dad built the lean-to sometime in 

the fifties. My grandfather built a granary sometime between 1910 to 

1915. It's on poles so the mice don't get into it. That little place in the 

corner is a carriage house, built probably by my great-grandfather 

because it looks like the same type of material, and the same style of 

building, as the barn. So I am guessing it was probably built the 

same year. The auto shed was put up when my grandfather bought 

his first car in 1913. The little shed by the garage by the road was 

built by my father to sell apples out of. It is on skids. Before we 

started selling apples on the barn floor, he used to skid it around and 

put it in front of the house between the grove of trees and the road. 

And when we got an apple grader and things like that it became 

much more convenient to sell apples right out of the barn. Now it is 

basically collecting crates that need to be repaired, and I don't get 

time enough to repair them. They are just accumulating. The farrowing 

house was originally a chicken house. My grandmother and 

mother used it. My father bought the house and farm from his 

mother in 1923. 

"The olive drab building is world war surplus and was built in 

the River Rouge [Ford Motor Company] plant. My father bought 

that and trucked it up here in sections. He put that up in 1949. That 

was built as storage in World War II. This is one of the first pole-type 

buildings around. It is 26 feet by 68 feet and approximately the first 

50 feet were built in 1952 and the remainder was built about 1958. 

The garage is 1959. I got my first Morton building in 1970. The red 

one. 

"For the corncrib I cut the trees and had it sawed and built that 

out of my own lumber—all native lumber. The treated posts and the 

roof boards and rafters are bought. But the rest of it is from trees that 

I cut in 1975-76, skidded the logs out, and took them to the sawmill. 

I actually started building the corncrib in '77, and I don't think I finished 

it until '79. I did it as I had a little time. I designed it while I 

built it, with a single-slope roof without any drive-through. It sloped 

upwards towards the southwest. The wind came along and took the 


whole thing off, scattered the roof in my neighbor's dooryard across 

the road. So I redid it, and that time it had a second slope to have a 

covered driveway. I built it as cheap as 1 could to start out with, and 

that wasn't very satisfactory. 

"The long cattle feeder was built when I built the silo in 1981. 

The two Morton buildings, the sheep and heifer barns, and the pig 

barn were built in '81. The Morton building at the top is for equipment 

and a farm shop. That was built in '87. Morton is probably the 

highest, or one of the highest, quality building you can buy of that 

type of building. They are a little more expensive but not a lot more. 

I think the quality is worth it. I have been satisfied. They get in, and 

they do the job, use quality material. I can't go to the lumber yard 

and buy as good a quality as they bring in here." 

We examine the inside of his shop. It is big. He says: "I have to 

insulate it. But even without that I don't think it will get down to 

freezing. You need something big enough to get your machinery in 

to work on in the kind of weather where you can't work someplace 

else. The only place I had where I could do my welding was in the 

garage. That meant I had to do my big equipment outdoors. And 

you can't weld in the rain. You won't weld when it is real cold. That 

meant that the kind of days that I should be doing things like that I 

couldn't. I didn't get electricity into it till January. I dug the trench 

and got someone else to lay the line." 

On the Lutz farm every structure that is still in good shape is 

moved and adapted for reuse. Other structures are built at minimum 

expense but with quality. It is a frugal and cost-effective approach 

and not one that all the farmers in the area have followed. 

Bill's opinion of tax incentives to preserve traditional farm buildings 

is equally pragmatic. He says: "It doesn't make sense to maintain 

something that you can't use in order to be able to write it off on 

your taxes. All it's done is increase your business expenses, and that 

isn't an advantage." 

Diversified Farming 

One evening in 1988 I talk to Bill while he is milking and doing the 

chores.2 His mother has recently passed away. I ask him if he now 

hires out any of the tasks on the farm. He says: "Very little, very little. 

I have a few of my apples picked. The neighbor right down the 

road, he comes in after work and pick some apples for me. And I 

have the neighbor cut and fill my silo for me. I pay him 550 dollars. 


It requires a lot of equipment. If I bought the equipment, that 

amount wouldn't pay the interest. Furthermore, he did it in two 

days. If I had to do it alone, it would take me a week. I am hoping I 

can continue to get somebody to do it. My sister's been helping me 

Saturdays and Sundays." 

Bill is close to his only sibling, Ruth. She, her husband, and her 

son help on weekends. Ruth sells apples and brings Bill vegetables 

she has canned. Bill gives a succinct overview of his farm economy, 

saving: "Milk is the primary income. The milk is sold to the Michigan 

Milk Producers Cooperative. I belong to the cooperative. It is an 

exclusive contract, and they take all of the milk. I market my animals—the 

pigs, lambs, and culled dairy cows. Most go to the Michigan 

Livestock Exchange, another cooperative. The lambs, I have 

been selling directly to another farmer to feed out. I have not the 

time or the feed to feed them out myself. I do sell some of the calves 

to other farmers and the same way with the pigs. In the spring I sold 

quite a lot of pigs to children for /J.-H projects. Most of the apples I 

sell retail on the farm. I have one place that I wholesale to, that my father 

started selling to 35 years ago or more. As the years have gone 

by, the retail business has built up, and so we have needed to wholesale 

less." 

Bill describes the routine of farmwork: "If I don't get delayed, I 

like to be down to the big barn by 5:30 a.m. I usually feed the pigs 

first, then I milk the cows, and after I get that done I feed the rest of 

the animals up the road and I clean up around the barn, the gutters, 

and sweep everything. Wash the milking apparatus. I get done by 

9:30 in the morning if I don't get interrupted. This time of year I am 

working the rest of the morning writh the apples because I run retail 

hours from nine to noon. I don't spend all my time there, but whatever 

I can do around the barn I do. And then I spend the afternoon in 

the orchard. I schedule to be open all day on Saturday and Sunday 

because my sister always comes and helps me. Just when the apples 

are gone I have to start harvesting the corn. All winter, anytime I 

don't have anything absolutely pressing, I will go down and work in 

the orchard, pruning. I never get it all done." 

Most fruit farmers use the winter to get their pruning done. I 

was told by a blueberry farmer who had a U-pick farm that he took 

care of all 50 acres with his wife. They pruned their bushes in the 

winter. 

Bill is in the basement of the big barn every morning and 

evening milking. There are some 18 cows each waiting in their specific 

stalls. The milking machine is hooked to 2 cows. There are cows 


outside in the barnyard feeding from a round metal trough. Bill says: 

"I have some dry cows that will be freshening into the month. The 

rest of them are heifers. One heifer will have her calf this month, I 

guess, and the rest of them are January and later. Most of the time I 

milk at least 15, many times I milk 22. The ideal situation is to have a 

cow freshen, have a calf, milk for 10 months, have 2 months dry, and 

freshen and start all over again. I expect to have 22 most of the time. 

I don't really care to have more than I can take good care of." 

Bill knows each of his cows by name. Obliquely acknowledging 

the difference between his operation and large mechanized dairy 

farms, he says: "Well, my veterinarian, the one who is retired now, 

was treating my cow out in the pasture. He never liked that type of 

dairy mechanization. He stands for the old school. He says, There 

are a lot of cows that would think they were in heaven if they were 

here.' I do samples once a month for production records, one day, 

two milkings a month. This is the way the yearly production is confirmed, 

for official records, on a one-day-per-month catch. I generally 

don't treat with antibiotics. Mastitis will correct itself. I do very 

very little antibiotics. Every cow that I have is from one Holstein 

cow that my father bought in 1922. They are all registered. I use artificial 

insemination. On the sire's side they are not all the same, but 

on the maternal side they are all mine. All descended from that one 

cow. They are not all inbred. If they were they would not amount to 

anything." 

Bill casually squirts some milk for a cat that has been hanging 

around waiting for the treat. A calf is crying in one of the stalls. Bill 

says: "I have three calves to feed. I will feed this one and go and get 

some more milk. This one was born 45 pounds. On an average they 

should weigh about 90 pounds. It is a cute little calf, about three 

weeks old. This cow is over 11 years old, and she doesn't move 

around very fast. And I try to be patient with her. Figure when I get 

old someone will be patient with me. Her name is Dale. Each year I 

go to a different letter of the alphabet for the barn name, so all born 

this year are starting with the letter O. My father started that in 1922. 

We are into the second time through the alphabet. He started using 

artificial breeding sometime in the midforties. They will go out to the 

fields for the night, and I will do this again in the morning. It is a 

very small acreage, an eight-acre field, and most of what they are eating 

is chopped alfalfa out of the wagon, not much of the grass. I can't 

turn them directly onto the field primarily because there isn't any 

fence on one side. One of the advantages of a dairy herd is you continue 

on and build on what you got. Simply because of that I think 


dairying is the most interesting and challenging part of farming. 

With sheep and pigs not to the same extent, but with dairy you build 

up a genetic base." 

In 2008, 20 years later, once again I talked with Bill as he did the 

evening milking. He followed exactly the same process. Each cow 

went to her own stall when brought into the barn. He took milk out to 

the calf in the back, fed some to a cat with kittens in the milk 

house—making sure the runt of the litter got some, too—cleaned out 

the tubing that transports the milk to the stainless steel container kept 

at a controlled temperature, and cleaned the barn floor of manure with 

a shovel. It was an amazing exercise in commitment to a way of life. 

Sheep are another source of cash income on the Lutz farm. In 

1988 Bill described their care: "My sheep are in the pasture behind 

the orchard now. There are 5 ewes that I keep for breeding. I sold the 

rest of the lambs to a fellow that will feed them out. They weighed 

about 80 pounds, and he will feed them to about 115 or thereabouts 

and then sell them, probably through Michigan Livestock. I bring the 

ewes into the barn; that is where I have the lambs born. I leave them 

down there as long as I can. The sheep don't mind the cold. They 

need some shelter to get under when the wind is blowing. But they 

would rather lie outdoors than inside. Depending on how you feed 

them, they will be less then a year old when they are slaughtered. It 

can be as few as five months depending on how heavily and quickly 

you feed them. Some years I raise 45 to 50 lambs. This year I raised 

38. Each year I expect to keep about 5 young ewes to replace the old 

ones. They are shorn once a year. I sell the wool. The guy w^ho shears 

the wool buys it. 

"I have 12 sows now. I can't tell you how many total pigs I have. 

I didn't raise many pigs this summer. The weather was hot when the 

pigs came. The sows didn't eat. They didn't have milk. I have been 

able to average better than 8 pigs per litter in the past. But I didn't do 

even half that this summer. When the sows are having pigs, they will 

be in the farrowing house while they are nursing the young. Otherwise 

they will be down here where they can all eat together and run 

loose and you don't have to clean the pens every single day. I think 

the pigs are better off, and so am I. I take the pigs to the Michigan 

Livestock Exchange in Manchester." 

Bill's intimate knowledge of the animals he owns is in contrast 

to the factory farm production that is increasingly the norm in the 

United States. Bill feeds the pigs twice a day. He needs to be on his 

farm at feeding times and to milk the cows morning and evening. He 

is necessarily closely tied to his farm. 


The Apple Orchard and Retailing Apples 

The apple-grading machine is in the upper story of the barn. It is a relatively 

small machine, compact and handy. Starting it up, Bill explains 

the machinery and describes the apples he raises: "To start out, 

these are the apples just as they came in from the orchard. These are 

Jonathans. They are my favorite apples really. I sell these to anybody 

who will give me three dollars a bushel for them. If you don't spray 

your apple trees, you will have a big problem. It is an insect and it 

lays an egg and you get a little crescent on the skin. I don't know any 

way to control that without a pesticide, and it has to be put on approximately 

at petal fall. It is a weevil called plum curculio. 

"This part is the brushes. The brush may clean it a bit, but its real 

purpose is to keep the apples in position to size them. They spin, and 

they always stand on the side and come out at the point where I adjust 

this gate. Jonathans are small apples, and I don't get many of 

them. These are really fairly good size for Jonathans. This size now is 

adjusted to 75 millimeters. The only one I change for is the Wolf River, 

which is a larger apple. I set it at 80 millimeters. The yellow ones are 

Golden Delicious. These are Rhode Island Green, considered more of 

a cooking apple. The Golden Delicious are considered more an eating 

apple, although they are a general purpose apple. I had a part that 

Dad bought in 1964. But it wasn't really very accurate. This is much 

more accurate. It spins the apple on the side so the diameter is measured 

at the gate. Last year I had a lot of real nice big Delicious. I 

could have sold them at quite a premium. He took one load. But he 

said "I can't have those little apples in there." He had to have more 

accuracy. So I bought this machine, but now I don't have the apples to 

sell. But someday I will. This was made in Holland by the way." 

I have heard that small farmers cannot find machinery made in 

the United States that is suitable for them. Most is designed for much 

larger farm operations. Bill corroborates: "I have a brush chipper, to 

chip up the prunings from the trees, that is made in Holland and another 

mower that mows underneath the trees; that, too, is made in 

Holland. You cannot buy a farm tractor under 100 HP [horsepower] 

that is made in this country. None. They are either made in Europe or 

Japan. The biggest-selling tractor in the state of Michigan under a 

100 HP is a Kubota, a Japanese brand. My John Deere 85 HP was 

made in Germany, the engine was made in France, the tractor was 

assembled in Germany, tires were made in Spain." 

We are speaking in 1988 when the full impact of globalization 

on production has not yet been widely recognized in Michigan. But 

Bill is aware of its impact on the farm business. 


On a Saturday in 1988, bright and early for me, I am at Bill's big 

barn selling apples. It is a cool, crisp day, and the Michigan countryside 

is at its best. Bill has been generous with his time and information, 

and I want to reciprocate. His sister is unable to sell apples this 

weekend. I offer to be there. It is a chance to see more of the daily life 

on this farm and observe what it takes to direct market farm products. 

My major recollection of the experience is that I am not much 

help, very incompetent in learning the varieties and their characteristics. 

When people stop to buy, they want you to know about your 

product. I hang around the barn. Cars pass. Customers come in and 

The Lutz farmhouse 

framed by the doors of 

the big barn, where 

apples and hay are 

stored 


Most of Bill's apples were sold directly out of the big barn. 

chat with Bill. In a busy life full of daily chores, Bill has a community 

of folks with whom he interacts. He is an important part of many 

people's world. A woman comes by to ask directions to the farm's Upick 

orchard. It is just a little way down the road. I give careful directions. 

Bill tells me how to keep accounts of apple sales, saying: 

"As I sell I put down the bushels sold and amount at the side. These 

are Greenings here. Other than those that are bagged up, I only have 

the small. The bagged up are priced. Hardly anyone gets Waggoners. 

That is all I have left here. I have two regular customers. These are 

three dollars per bushel. They are not sorted by variety." 

Although I say okay, it is without much conviction. All the details 

of prices, apple types, and sizes are a bit fuzzy. My eye is not 

trained to make the fine-grained differentiations that come so easily 

to Bill. He continues: "The Greenings and the Spies are the more 

common. They are used as processing apples. The canners like them. 

They want apples that are uniform in size and that work easily with 

the technologies. Wolf Rivers don't because they are not uniform 

shaped and not as firm an apple. That is probably why the Greening 

is the best for them, because they are a good firm apple. Waggoners 

are a good eating apple." 


As I prepare to leave, I buy several of the different varieties of 

apples. I miscalculate the cost of what I am taking and overcharge 

myself- Bill's response is revealing. He says: "Just give me what I am 

owed. Want what's coming to me, and I don't want more. I don't 

want what's not coming to me." 

It is a refreshing point of view. He continues: "A friend of mine 

is taking my apples to the cider mill. If they press out well, you get 

four gallons per bushel. I freeze the cider and have it all winter." 

I ask to buy some from him as an informal sale. I provide empty 

milk bottles and am rewarded with strong, flavorful cider, without 

preservatives, that hardens with time to be enjoyed during the winter 

that follows. Bill also sells some apples wholesale. He says: "On 

Thursday mornings, when I am not open for retailing apples, I start 

off with my loads of apples just a little after nine o'clock. I deliver apples 

to a store at North Line and Allen Roads in the town of Southgate, 

east of the [Detroit's] Metropolitan Airport. He is a retailer. One 

of the nicest markets you will ever get into. He has a tremendous variety, 

and he handles nothing but quality. You won't get any junk 

there. I am proud to say I can supply him. My father started dealing 

with that family about 35 years ago or so. Now he is gone, and the 

fellow I am dealing with is the son of the man who started the market." 

There is an enviable continuity of family connections and relationships. 

The Lutz Farmhouse 

The farmhouse is the oldest building on the Lutz farmstead. Bill 

says: "The house has been pretty much the same since our family has 

owned it. There have been three things that have changed. My 

grandfather put the front porch on. There was no front porch on it 

originally. And the back porch Grandfather put on and I made bigger. 

Originally you went straight into the kitchen, and now there is a 

porch there that is 12 feet wide. I put that on in 1973. The front 

porch— my grandfather died in 1918 and bought the house in 1908, 

so it was put on sometime in that time period. When I put in the new 

windows, I closed up a door in the dining room. 

"Detroit Edison brought in electricity in 1926, I am guessing, 

certainly before 1930. That was a bit before my time. The first bathroom 

was before they had running water or electricity, a bathroom, 

no toilet. They carried water into it. It had a drain. Before that, of 

course, they had a tub in front of the kitchen stove. My grandmother 

converted the pantry into the bathroom. And they heated the water 


out on the stove and carried it in to the bathtub and poured it in. And 

then later on, oh, I don't know when, my grandmother had a leg amputated 

[and] they put in the toilet. She couldn't get around, what 

with missing one leg, to go to an outhouse. I am guessing that was 

the late twenties, when they put in a toilet. By that time they had 

electricity. They had a telephone, I think, probably before the First 

World War, by 1910." 

The Lutz farmhouse has a full basement with fieldstone walls. 

Bill explains the various activities that are carried on in the basement: 

"There's my furnace. All I have to heat my house is a wood 

furnace. A lot of the wood is from the orchard, all these limbs that 

have to be taken care of. And then there is the so-called sheep pasture, 

fit] has quite a lot of woods there. That's the only heat I have. If 

I run out of wood, I am going to be cold. And I put that furnace in in 

1983. That is the third furnace that has been in that house. Originally 

they heated it with little stoves, at least three or more stoves. My 

grandfather put that first furnace in about 1916. They had to lower 

the floor when they put in the first furnace. My father's brother 

Harold told how hard it was digging. He helped dig this out. He was 

about 16 years old. This was the potato bin. And there is the butchering 

table. We haven't done any butchering for a long time. My sister 

did all the canning. My mother did a lot of canning. But my mother 

hadn't been in shape to can for quite a few years. But my sister did 

all that for me. She brought over 100 quarts of tomatoes. They buy almost 

no vegetables at all. They even make their own sauerkraut, 

raise their own cabbage. 

"When I was a little kid, all along that row were vinegar barrels. 

My folks used to make a lot of cider, and they sold vinegar. There 

were vinegar barrels all along that wall. We never had a cider mill. 

There was a commercial mill just outside of Saline at that time. They 

would just bring it back in barrels. And sell vinegar from here. It just 

processes itself. You first have alcoholic fermentation, and then it is a 

matter of the air getting involved. It goes to acidic fermentation. 

When I was a little kid, we had a big vinegar business. Of course that 

was mostly in the summertime. But then people come all times a 

year, driving in. They usually sold in glass jugs and very frequently 

brought their own glass jugs. We don't have the barrels still. Eventually 

the hoops rusted off. That is why the floor isn't in very good 

shape. Once in a while the barrels would go and the accident with 

vinegar would eat away the floor. This section here I use as a woodworking 

shop, and the boys, the kids I work with in the 4-H, we 

come down here and we do woodworking in the wintertime. It is a 

pretty sound house." 

5O MICHIGAN FAMILY FARMS AND FARM BUILDINGS

Diet, Food, and Self-Reliance 

Although the Lutz farm has animals that are raised for meat, Bill 

Lutz is not a big meat eater. He cooks for himself. "I have a modern 

cookstove, which is a woodstove. I just bought it this year. I have an 

electric stove I cook on, too. But this woodstove is nice to have at this 

time of year. I don't have the furnace on, but I can eat my meal at the 

table here and don't have to heat the whole house. And I can bake 

some apples in there. My bean soup is warm there. I grind my own 

wheat. My grinder is up there in the shop. I don't know if it is 

healthy, but it is cheap. I don't drink coffee. There is no coffee in my 

house. I use my own milk. I don't pasteurize it. I am not worried, really, 

about unpasteurized milk." 

Bill not only cooks for himself, but he also participates in the 

neighborly exchanges that are part of building community. He is 

planning to visit a neighbor who is not well and says: "I probably 

won't stay very long. I told him I had made bean soup for my dinner. 

Then I made some dumplings on top out of my homegrown flour. I 

am going to take him some homemade sauerkraut my sister made. I 

put some Tabasco on it. 

"First thing I will do when I get up is cook my breakfast. Very 

commonly I like to have pancakes and sausages. I might have eggs 

or oatmeal. Breakfast is my most important meal. If I have a good 

breakfast, I am in good shape for the day. Sometimes I eat something 

that is left over. Sometimes I have soup for breakfast. The alarm clock 

goes off about 4:30, and I will get up and get my breakfast about 5:00 

a.m." 

It is a healthy diet. Bill not only cooks meals for himself, but he 

grows or raises a significant number of the ingredients. 

Bill's socializing is quite circumscribed. He is seen once in a 

while at contra dances, but by and large his interactions are around 

his work and the volunteering he does in the community, in 4-H and 

other farm-related activities. He is prominent at the Washtenaw 4-H 

Fair, and I once encountered him at the opening of a multiplex movie 

theater just outside of Ann Arbor. He was there with one of his cows 

for small children to pet. The demands of farm life are great. He has 

little time to dedicate to recreation. He maintains his connections 

with the farm families he got to know in Germany when he was in 

the army. In 2008 he tells me that in 2007 he took a three-day trip to 

Germany, which turned into a four-day trip because of airport delays, 

to celebrate the wedding anniversary of two of his friends. 

They are farmers, and there is mutual understanding and a friendship 

that has spanned the years. 

The Lutz Farm

Landholding and Crops 

Bill manages a farm of 135 acres. He describes his acreage in detail: 

"On this parcel there are 87 or something like that minus the Edison 

Company rights across the back. There is approximately 4 acres of 

Edison Company right-of-way, and I use it just as I do the others and 

I don't pay any rent or any taxes on it. In addition the orchard is 33 

acres approximately, and behind it is pasture. The sheep eat the 

grass, I don't harvest anything directly. And then there is a 15-acre 

woodlot off in the back. It is not on any road. I have to go down a 

neighbor's lane to get to it. And I do rent 9 1/2 acres across the road 

here." 

When I ask how he uses the acres of land that are not part of the 

orchard or farmstead, Bill replies with characteristic detail. He says: 

"I have 15 acres of woodland, and the remainder of it, about 6 acres, 

includes the buildings, a lane, and a ditch and a little bit of pastureland. 

I have a crop rotation I usually use, which consists of one year 

of corn, a year of oats, a year of wheat, and about three years of alfalfa. 

Virtually all of it is fed to the livestock here. There will be somewhere 

between 25 and 30 acres of corn, usually around 10 of oats, 

around 10 of wheat, and the rest is in alfalfa. That is on my own farm. 

And on a rented 10 acres, I raised oats and barley. 

"The crops are fed to the livestock. It cuts down on the amount 

of feed that I buy. Occasionally I sell some wheat. In most years I 

don't buy any hay. Last year was a drought year. All of the grain that 

the cows have eaten in the last year was bought. I bought it as a complete 

feed and had it delivered here in my bin. I just haven't had 

enough feed. And most of the pig feed I raised. I chose to do it that 

way because around the north end of the barn I have a big bin. I can 

put four ton of cow feed. And the auger comes in by where the calves 

are, and the feed comes into a cart that I wheel around the barn. And 

last year I had to buy a little hay. And this next winter I will have to 

buy a lot of hay I either have to buy a lot of hay or sell most of my 

cows. 

"The alfalfa is the hay, 25 to 30 acres of it. In good years that allows 

enough silage for my cows and other animals. But it isn't going 

to be enough this year. Usually the silo can be filled on 12 acres. The 

rest of it can be harvested for grain. It is all the same corn. When I get 

the silo filled, whatever is left I can harvest for grain." 

In 2003, Bill was named Conservation Farmer of the Year by the 

Washtenaw County Conservation District. In addition to his conservation 

innovations, the award noted his community service, including 

40 years as a 4-H leader.3 By then Bill owned 207 acres. A reporter 


from the Ann Arbor News asked him why he had bought the farm 

next door when he already had more work than one man could do. 

She quoted Bill as joking that "he didn't know any better." Then, after 

a moment's thought, he told her, "The farm next door was for sale 

and I wanted to be able to see that somebody else didn't start building 

a lot of houses next to me." 

In 2008 he tells me he sold the adjacent farm to his nephew, 

John, who has a job with the County Road Commission and enjoys 

raising crops. He does not, however, share his uncle's love of dairy 

cattle and animal husbandry. 

Lutz Farm History 

Four generations of the Lutz family have owned the farm. Bill knows 

the history of their land transactions intimately: "The Reynolds family 

consolidated this farm in 1832 and was probably the first that operated 

it as a farm. Before that there were several owners who were 

probably nothing more than speculators. The house next door was 

the original Enis Reynolds house. In 1846 his son Milton bought out 

his brother and built this house in 1846. My father once talked to the 

oldest man in the neighborhood and asked him if he knew how old 

our house was. He said, T first traveled that road in 1847, and it was 

one of the newer houses.' My great-grandfather bought it in 1882 

when he was 64 years old. He was 34 when he came to this country. 

And he didn't have any money. He worked as a hired man out in 

Lodi Township and lived in a little house for the hired man. The farm 

is now the Lodi Township Fair Grounds. He was not married when 

he came here. After he worked there for a while, he got a job in railway 

construction over at Tecumseh. That's where he met his wife. 

They were married in 1859. He was 41. When that job ran out, they 

moved back and worked on that same farm where the fair ground is. 

My grandfather was born in 1818. And in 1872 he bought his first 

farm, when he was 54. The farm next door, north of us on Macon 

Road, was his second farm. It now has 10 houses on it. The house 

was the same style as this house. My father was born there in 1895. 

And when Milton Reynolds was bankrupt this farm came up for sale 

and my grandfather bought it. The house was here; the original barn 

had burnt just shortly before. It is pictured in the atlas. They knew 

the Reynolds family well. In fact when the barn burnt my grandfather 

came over and helped fix up some temporary horse stalls for 

his horses. My father moved here in 1900 but actually bought the 

farm in 1908." 


Most farm loans were made by private individuals until the 

19205. Bill continues: "There were a lot of farmers who when they 

got some money they would put it out as a farm loan. A fellow up 

here by the name of Fred Bauknecht—knecht means 'slave'—charged 

my father 4 or 5 percent. He said 'Other people are getting more, but 

I think that is all a farmer can pay.' That's all he charged. There was 

a man who was himself a German immigrant. He had come to this 

country without much of anything. He bought some land, made 

some money. Then he was loaning it out to other farmers. But that 

was rather typical. Most of the so-called German farmers are 

Swabish. We are Swabish. Stuttgart is really the center of Swab Wiirttemberg 

land. When my great-grandfather came to this country, Germany 

really didn't exist. He came from Wiirttemberg. Now the 

Swabish people had the reputation similar to [what] the Scottish 

people have in the British Isles. We are the most sparesome, thrifty, 

stingy of all Germans. Which is why when they got here they 

minded their money. Most of them came with nothing. In about 20 

years they owned land. A lot of them came around the 18505. There 

was a big immigration from that particular area into Washtenaw 

County at that time." 

Bill's attitudes toward money and consumption reflect his heritage. 

He says: "How much money you make isn't important. It's 

what you do with it when you get it. That's the important thing. My 

father used to say that people find the money to do what they really 

want to do. I can tell you in one sentence how to have all the money 

you want for the rest of your life. It is very simple. You establish your 

wants to 80 percent of your income. You will always have all you 

want. One time Mother asked, 'What can I get you for Christmas?' I 

said, 'Mother, I have everything in this world that I want, that money 

can buy.'" 

Bill knows that his family has been in farming for seven generations. 

His research in church records in Germany has confirmed it. 

He says: "I traced the family back 10 generations ahead of me. But 

they weren't all farmers. The earliest one I found was a carriage 

maker, Michael Luz. All of the Luzes in that town, according to the 

pastor, are descended from that couple.4 The Zeeb family also came 

from that same town in Germany.3 That first Luz I traced, he married 

a woman by the name of Anna Zeeb. 

Sophisticated scientific and engineering knowledge and practical 

know-how are needed to carry on the diverse enterprises of the 

Lutz farm. Bill says: "I am not a graduate of Michigan State [University]. 

I took what they call a short course. [The] two-year course consisted 

of four terms on campus, and the rest of the year was working 


xperience. I was working on this farm. They had that program a 

long time, and my father was in it in 1913 and 1914. It allowed me to 

in winter when there is less work on the farm. That was the idea. 

Originally it was only one term, just the winter term. Then they went 

to fall term. He ended up with three terms on campus. That was 

pretty uncommon in those days. Most of the farmers didn't even go 

to high school. I went to a one-room country schoolhouse through 

eighth grade, the same one my father and grandfather went to. It is 

down the road half a mile and now used as a house. I personally 

think it is a superior type of education than is offered today. I never 

watch television. I take Farm Journal, Successful Farming, American 

Fruit Grower, Great Lakes Fruit Growers, Farmers Advance, Michigan 

Farmer, Farmers Digest, Holstein World, Hampshire Herdsman, New 

Farm Magazine, the Grower Magazine. I am probably taking a few less 

than I used to. My favorite magazine is National Geographic. I enjoy 

that. Hord's Dairyman, that's the best of all magazines. I also take 

Time magazine and U.S. Neivs and World Report. I don't read all of 

them." 

Student Questions 

Later that year Bill spoke to my class at the University of Michigan. 

The students asked him questions and received frank responses that 

revealed his approach to farming and his calculation of what fits his 

lifestyle.6 The clarity with which Bill communicated this bemused 

and fascinated the students. It was a different way of looking to the 

future. Bill said with good humor, "How do I manage to do all the 

work? That's a good question. I can't say I am doing a good job. I am 

always running behind. But so far I have managed to stay solvent. 

And I stay busy." 

Does your daily work vary? "Yes. I guess I probably average, year 

round, 70 hours of work per week. The summertime actually is a 

slack season as there is less work that has to be done every single 

day. I have the cows out in pasture, and I don't have manure to haul 

and a lot of barn chores to do. Now, in the wintertime there is probably 

no day when I don't put in at least 9 hours. In other words, 

when I take Christmas off I still put in 9 hours of work that day." 

Are there many other farmers who farm like you do? "1 don't suppose 

anyone farms the way I do. I would say every farm is unique. Most 

farms are more specialized than I am. A typical farm in my area 

would be specialized into one type of livestock and then crops. And 

some of the crops would be sold, some of them would be fed to the 


livestock. There is quite a few that are simply crop farmers and still 

quite a lot of dairy farmers in Saline Township. 

"There are a number of reasons why I diversify. You have to 

start looking at what you have. And the facilities that I have, it 

would take quite a lot of money to switch over to one thing. That is 

part of the answer. Some of the land is not suited. The land is in three 

parcels. There is 33 acres where the orchard is. That is far enough 

away that it wouldn't be handy to pasture cattle there. There would 

be quite a lot of trucking back and forth. One of the reasons why my 

father set an orchard in there is that it is so stony that he did not want 

to have to plow it. I think it is a matter of trying to make the best use 

of what I have. That is one of the big reasons that I have remained diversified. 

Another factor is I have believed for quite a while, and 

maybe I am not going to be right, that dairying could not stay as 

good as it is. Dairying is a rather confining business, particularly if 

you are all alone." 

Do you have pressure on you to sell to a large farmer? "Not by other 

farmers. I have lots of people stop that want to buy i to 10 acres to 

put a little house on it. That is where the pressure is. There is no pressure 

from other farmers. I am 4 miles from Saline, about 13 miles 

from Ann Arbor. All of Saline Township, there is a lot of building going 

on and apparently a lot of demand for houses in the area because 

houses are very expensive and residential prices are going up quite 

fast. I was on the Board of Review. The last two years the residential 

areas received about a 10 percent increase in their assessment. And I 

think they are going to get at least that much this year." 

How do you feel about the city approaching you? "I don't like it, of 

course. A day will come when I will move out. It probably will happen. 

About two miles out of Saline there is a subdivision built, and 

they are adding to it again. I guess the lots on it are an acre. They are 

running a little over 35,000 dollars a lot. They are not cheap houses 

they are building on them, I assure you. That is coming more and 

more. Yes, there is no question that there is a lot of demand for 

people wanting to get out in the country, but, of course, as they get 

out there is no country there. To the immediate north of me was an 

8o-acre parcel, which my grandfather once owned. In fact my father 

was born in that house. But it has been split up into a number of 

parcels, and there are at least seven houses on that farm now. Part of 

it does belong to the family, a father and two sons, that filled my silo 

for me. They have bought up two farms adjacent to theirs. They are 

milking about 100 cows." 

If you moved, would you stay in farming? "Yes, of course I would 

stay in farming. I would try and get far enough away so it wouldn't 


happen immediately again. There are areas of the country where the 

population is decreasing. Iowa is one which I surely would look at. 

Never been to Iowa, but I would look there. That would be something 

to think about if I didn't mind cold weather. There is a lot of 

good, grade-A dairy farms for sale in the Upper Peninsula now. 

Quite cheap on a per-acre basis compared to what you would pay in 

this area." 

Do you ever take a vacation? "I guess I got one right now." (The 

students laughed at this, but it was a factual response.) "I thought it 

would be fun to come in here. I have taken time off a few times. And 

I have been the Washtenaw 4-H livestock judging coach. I have a 4- 

H club. I enjoy working with kids. And over the years I have had 

quite a few teams go to national competition, and sometimes I have 

been able to accompany the team. Got me off of the farm as long as 

four days. The last time I did that was in 1983." 

Many in the class were no doubt calculating that Bill Lutz had 

not had a vacation from his farm chores in the last five years. There 

was silence in the room. The hard, time-committed work of the Lutz 

farm was dispelling any idyllic notions about family farming. 

How do you monitor for pests and spray when needed? "A lot of the 

large fruit farms on the west [side of the state] hire a professional 

monitor who comes once a week. They don't do it themselves. There 

is one in Washtenaw County. The first year I did this I hired him on 

partial monitoring. I accompanied him as he went on his rounds so 

that I could see what he was doing. The next year I didn't have to 

hire him. I like the idea of knowing what is going on myself and 

making my own decisions. I could still hire him. But I didn't want to 

rely on him." 

Have people in your community changed much over the last two 

decades? "The primary change is in the new housing. When I was 

growing up, I knew everybody within what I considered the community, 

our local country school district. There are a lot of new 

houses, lots of people. I don't know very many of the people. The 

farm families have been relatively constant, and I know the farmers 

all around the county. But I don't know the nonfarmers within a few 

miles of me." 

How do you find out about other farms if you don't leave your farm? 

"Well, the milkman that picks up my milk picks up milk from other 

farmers, and he tells me. My livestock trucker does [too]. Of course I 

have lots of apple customers in the fall. Farmers, if they see one another, 

they will stop and visit. My next-door neighbor loves to visit, 

and he knows all the news. There is quite a lot of that, although there 

is not much organized. I am not in any group that gets together." 


Can government help keep family farmers in farming? What are your 

recommendations? "That is a good question. The farmer can help himself. 

One has to get away from the idea that the government ought to 

step in and help. Most of the government programs don't help the 

small farmer anyway. I think we need less programs not more. I am 

not sure I can make any recommendations that would be meaningful. 

You could try to elect congress people who wouldn't be trying to 

collect more industry. If industry comes in, and residential comes in, 

they are not compatible with agriculture. It is just as simple as that. 

If you are going to be giving tax breaks to industry, it is going to 

crowd out agriculture. Even in the state of Iowa, which I think might 

be a nice state to go [to], they are eagerly trying to get industry there. 

And I think they are making a mistake. You can talk about tax 

breaks, yes. Public Act 116 does give tax breaks now. But I am not 

sure that most farmers would want to be right in the middle of a residential 

area. Residential would be far worse than industry, really. I 

would rather have a factory right next to my farm than a subdivision. 

Because the people in the subdivision may complain about the 

noise and the smell, but the factory is not going to. They create 

enough smell of their own. In fact they probably won't even notice it. 

Giving tax breaks can't be the answer because residential and farming 

usages are just not compatible." 

What else makes you self-sufficient? "I don't have to buy any milk. 

I don't buy any apples. I don't have a garden. When my father was 

able to do quite a lot of the tractor work, I did have a garden. My sister 

and brother-in-law have a big garden. We cooperate back and 

forth. They bring me an awful lot of the food I eat. Shame myself, 

sponging off of my relatives, but. . . They don't buy any vegetables. 

They help me quite a lot. No, they don't buy any apples. I have not 

thought it worthwhile to butcher an animal for my meat. I don't eat 

a lot of meat. I guess self-sufficiency is primarily in wood and apples 

and milk. A number of years ago my mother, she got on a health kick. 

She thought it was good to have home-ground flour. And we had a 

little hand grinder. And that was a lot of work. By the time I found a 

place that had one that ran with an electric motor, she fell by the 

wayside and I never got the thing set up. Well, I got the thing out after 

she was gone. I am grinding my own wheat. I like it. I think there 

is a little more body to the flour. It is all wheat rather than the stuff 

that I buy. I don't do it for health reasons. I am not as worried about 

my health one way or another. 

"Farming, by the way, is the most dangerous occupation in the 

United States. There is an average of, I think, five people killed in 

farm accidents every day. You need to recognize the risk and weigh 


the possibilities against the risk. But I don't go through life worrying 

about accidents. I just don't." 

Do you have disability insurance? "I started disability insurance 

this summer. I do have hospitalization. In each case it is carried 

through Mutual of Omaha. I get a group rate because I am a member 

of the Michigan Livestock Exchange, which works with the National 

Livestock Association. This cuts the rate quite a lot. Blue Cross 

would be prohibitive I think. I know some farmers have it. I carry 

quite a high deductible, so it cost me quite a lot less. In principal I favor 

not having insurance. I think we would be better off if nobody 

had it. And I certainly think that if the government gets into it it will 

be worse. I have very little confidence in government." 

The Lutz Farm in 2004. and 2008 

Despite the surrounding urbanization, Bill Lutz continued to live on 

his family farm. In 2004 he said: "I have thought for a great many 

years that 2007 would probably be the year I would be crowded out 

here and I would buy another farm in Iowa and take my cows with 

me and start over. I know a lot of people my age would retire. But I 

don't see any benefit to retiring." 

But it is hard to be forced out of one's homestead, one's land, 

and house. In 2004 Bill bought a computer for his farm and personal 

use and began discovering that the skills needed are different from 

the mechanical skills he has in abundance. His frustration with the 

computer was familiar and rather amusing. When I saw him again, 

in 2008, he appeared to have mastered the computer and had acquired 

a digital camera. His nephew John was farming next door. 

Bill was facing hard health issues, but the creativity with which he 

accommodated and changed his personal and working lives over 

the years still demonstrated his resilience and the practical, intelligent 

ways he had sorted through his choices. He will do so again and 

continue to live the life he chooses on terms that are his own. It is an 

impressive legacy of consistent choices over many years. 

Consistant choices in lifestyle are evident from the start of our 

conversations. In 1988, late at night, after I finish my first interview 

with Bill, he walks me to my car and asks: "What kind of a car is 

yours? Japanese? Of course Honda has some plants in the U.S. and a 

reputation of being one of the highest quality car you can buy for the 

money." My Honda Civic is close to 12 years old. I was a graduate 

student when I bought it. My students own cars that are better and 

more expensive than mine. I can afford a bigger vehicle but believe a 


car is meant to get one somewhere not make a statement. Bill says: 

"That is exactly what I think. I would never, ever buy a Mercedes. I 

would not want a Mercedes or a Cadillac. I want to go from here to 

there. That is all I am interested in. I have a VW Rabbit. I bought a little 

bug when I was in Germany and brought it back here. I drove it 

for 15 years. I don't drive much." 

I unlock my car. As a city person, I always, intuitively, lock my 

car. Bill notices and says: "You are suspicious and you lock your car." 

It is a different world out in the countryside on Bill's farm, one 

he embraces and has worked all his life to retain. That he has succeeded, 

against poor odds, must comfort those who worry about the 

nature of the society, relationships, and environment toward which 

we are relentlessly moving. Bill's life is rooted in the landscape, in 

community, and is respectful of the environment and nature. Despite 

the trend toward globalized farming, his conservative and wise 

choices have enabled him to stay grounded in the region. He is proving 

to be right. As sustainable farming advocates are beginning to realize, 

sustainability involves making the kind of personal and production 

choices Bill and his family have made over generations.

CHAPTER 2 -?* The Lutz Farm

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