Chinchilla ranching: Upper Michigan homesteader provides coats for the super-rich.

"Rush hour" is a phrase considered by Southern California commuters to be a cross between a lie and an understatement. When you are crawling along the freeway between 20 mph and a dead stop, it is difficult to see the humor in calling it a "rush." Since it begins somewhere around 5 AM and continues without significant interruption until about 8 PM, the word "hour" actually gets caught between your clenched teeth.

In order to maintain my sanity I frequently reminded myself that my commute was a necessary evil to be endured during my climb up the corporate ladder. What's three hours a day in my car? A small price to pay for the position I had attained, the money I was earning, and the lifestyle I was living. After all, everybody was in the same race. It was expected of me.

Nevertheless, like a young child dreaming of distant galaxies, I fantasized about a more rural lifestyle. Truly it was a fantasy. It conflicted with my professional self-image. It would require me to completely change my goals. My ignorance of self sufficiency was an assurance that my fantasy would remain just that.

Oh yeah, there was also my wife to consider. She'd think I was nuts.

Then my brother-in-law called. He knew I loved animals. For years we had discussed having a chinchilla ranch together. He was living in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. That certainly qualified as rural. He had a small herd of "chins" and was looking to expand. He argued that my ignorance of chinchilla ranching was no problem. "They're easy to raise," he said, "and the market is great."

That was good enough for me. Now all I had to do was present the plan to my wife, watch her accept it with gleeful enthusiasm, sell our home, quit our jobs and move to the U.P.

After years of dreaming, it actually was that simple. Well, maybe "gleeful enthusiasm" is a bit of an exaggeration, but she did say okay.

So here I am in Iron Mountain, Michigan, a full-time chinchilla rancher, one-half owner of Superior Chinchillas. I've been so for almost six years now. My new "commute" is a 200 foot walk to the barn. My wife is happy. She has a job in town, which is only five miles away. She can travel to Green Bay, Wisconsin, whenever she needs a shopping mall fix.

Chinchillas are a small (under two pounds) South American native raised for their luxurious fur. A full length chinchilla coat retails for as much as $50,000, making it a fur of the super-rich. No other fur is softer or more distinctive.

We have about 200 breeding females, almost 900 animals, total.

The timing of my new venture wasn't great, as the market fell for each of the first four years. Yet, even in a declining market these wonderful animals paid for themselves and provided me with a modest income. They have proven to be the ideal choice for a "beyond the sidewalks" compromise.

Chinchillas do not require a large initial investment. There is no need for acreage or heavy equipment. Most ranchers are part-time, keeping their small herds in a basement, garage, or even a spare room in the house.

Their maintenance cost is only pennies a day and the chores are easy. They eat a pellet similar to a rabbit pellet, along with hay and a grain supplement.

Cage cleaning is a simple exchange of clean pine shavings for the used ones, done only once a week. This is simplified by a sliding tray which can be dumped and refilled.

The animals are a pleasure to work with. There is no odor, nor are they noisy. They have an inquisitive nature and actually make wonderful pets. The babies are born fully furred, with eyes open. Only a few hours after birth they can be found climbing the cage wire and playing with their littermates.

Chinchilla ranching is not a rapid growth, volume business. With an average production of only three babies per breeding female, your profit is made in quantity. The pelts are sold one at a time and can bring as much as $60, even in a depressed market.

The good news for us and other fur farmers is that fur is back. The market is now active and prices are rising. It appears that those of use who survived the downhill slide are now well-positioned for the predicted shortage of chinchilla pelts.

Because of the uniqueness of our ranch, groups frequently request tours. We have had the pleasure of introducing our critters to Boy Scouts, home schoolers, seniors, neighbors and prospective ranchers. We now sell breeding stock, run training classes for new ranchers and have a complete line of supplies for sale.

Our newest venture is pelt marketing. The depressed market was a real motivator. We developed new outlets for our pelts and are now buying pelts from other ranchers.

The market for pet chinchillas has really bloomed. The fact is, it is becoming difficult to find young animals for sale. We are currently negotiating a sale with a broker in Hong Kong, who wants to buy all our young stock, along with young from the ranchers we started in the business.

The pine shavings we produce are a by-product. With the chinchilla droppings, this "discard" makes the perfect garden mulch. Although we give our surplus to neighbors and friends, many return the favor with some form of barter. Our favorite is the retired farmer down the street who always leaves us a quart of maple syrup as he pulls out with his treasured load of mulch.

My wife and I have successfully experimented with gardening directly in a deep (8-12 inches) bed of shavings. Last year's crop was red potatoes. My mashed potatoes taste even better when flavored with the pride of my accomplishment.

Even though my early years as a chinchilla rancher have been a wonderful experience, an expanding and improving market will make the next few years very profitable as well.

Although in homesteading terms I have not moved far from the sidewalks, my chinchilla ranch seems to be a world away from the California freeways. If you ever find yourself coming to the U.P., please call and give me the opportunity to do what I like best: show off my critters. (Phone [phone].)