Urban farmer uniquely brings life to Detroit

Dee Dee Sharpe has a farm in old Detroit, replete with a cluck-cluck here and a bleat-bleat there.

To be more or less precise, she has 11 chickens, at least 10 goats (they move quickly), four ducks splashing in a kiddie pool, two roosters, nine parrots and, please, don't let me forget the pigs.

Two pigs, bought at a flea market four years ago as babies, have ballooned into hefty hog-sized creatures. How big are they? "Too big for me to lift," says Sharpe, 62, who says she was duped into thinking them true Vietnamese pot-bellied pigs.

They all gambol in a fenced yard beside Sharpe's century old, leaf-green cottage that sports an American flag, "support the troops" sign, and another decreeing "The Witch Is Out."

In post-apocalyptic Detroit, where cornstalks are taking over the way motorized carriages did 100 years ago, a city lot turned into a modest petting zoo and farm by a retired cross-dressing stripper and dog groomer isn't urban blight: It's an unexpected injection of life, tucked into a corner where human population is getting more sparse and fun is hard to find.

"When I first came here, one of the city's worst crack houses was on the corner," says Sharpe, who grew up in Union Lake before escaping to the big city and adopting the name of an obscure '60s singer. "I had to watch my chickens with a shotgun."

The goats, and the witch signage, have led to a rumor that two women live in the house, rather than one offbeat retiree with a passion for pets. "The witch sign is just a joke," says Sharpe, who prefers female pronouns in print but tells everyone to "Please, just call me Dee Dee."

The neighborhood, north of Michigan Avenue, has plenty of open land, some of it tended, some of it wild and some of it trimmed by the city. Sharpe keeps her own lawn cut with a mower because, she says, "the goats eat my roses and lilacs first, the grass is the last thing they'll eat."

She raises Rhode Island Reds and Japanese Silky chickens, and mixed breeds, eating the eggs, and occasionally the chickens. ("I can't look them in the eye so I take them to a poultry market. They come back ready for the oven," she says.) Occasionally, she sells her goats, especially in spring when there's great demand for them from Mexicantown. The goats go for $75.

On one side, she can see Tiger Stadium crumbling to the wrecker's ball and the looming, decrepit Michigan Central Depot. To the other, there's the new Motor City Casino, which has brought more police protection, she says.

She's also intrigued by the growth of gardens and small farming sites within the city limits, and occasionally gives away, or sells a pair of goats, to new farmers. Because she works with a nearby school, Sharpe has earned educational status from the city. While other city owners of chickens and goats take pains to hide their illegal livestock, Sharpe's ramshackle plot, its grass stripped by goats, isn't hard to spot.

Is the city improving or deteriorating?

"I definitely feel it's going through a transition," says Sharpe, "but I can't tell if it's good or bad. It's very hard to tell."

But she's a good citizen, who keeps her animals and yard as tidy as she can. How? "I spend 90 percent of my time outside with a shovel," she says.

Laura Berman's column runs Tuesday and Thursday in Metro and Sunday online. Reach her at lberman@detnews.com">lberman@detnews.com or call (313) 222-2032.