About Us
We’re Michael and Mariah, and we run Bigfoot’s Farm — which is a generous way of saying the farm runs us and occasionally lets us sleep.
Pictured: two people who have no idea what they just did.
Michael
Writes the posts. A Pittsburgh-area city slicker and former surfer who got bored one day and wrote the most unhinged house listing Facebook has ever seen — possible ghosts, serial-killer squirrels, and a steelworker named Frank who just wants to smoke in the garage and complain about taxes. The house sold in 24 hours, at full asking price, to buyers who found it without an address. He took that as a sign. He now owns twelve acres, a log cabin, a tractor payment, and questions no agricultural institution has ever been prepared to answer.
Also — and this is the twist — he did marketing professionally for eighteen years. Disney, Google, the works. If your business could use help from a man who once sold a haunted house in 24 hours with a Facebook post, you can actually hire him.
Mariah
The qualified half of this operation. A country hippie from Oregon with a degree in animal medicine and a lifetime of horses. Michael promised her the world; she reviewed the available options and said, “No thanks. A simple farm will do.” There is no such thing as a simple farm — but she’s a vet tech, so at least one parent on this property knows what to do when something goes wrong. She loves every one of God’s creatures. Including, for reasons still under investigation, snakes.
The Farm
Twelve acres and a log cabin in Bloomingdale, Ohio — streams, woods, mud with a winning record, and an ever-growing roster of animals with strong opinions: bearded goats (one possibly expecting), horses (plus a foal on the way), and a future herd of pugs. What began as cries for help posted to local Facebook groups turned out to be exactly the content the world was starving for. Now it’s a blog, a book, and a lifestyle nobody planned.
Why “Bigfoot’s Farm”?
Because the ideal farm mascot is tall, hairy, rarely photographed clearly, and blamed for everything that goes wrong in the woods. Around here, that description fits at least one of us. The goat has requested we not specify which.
The plan, such as it is: keep the animals fed, keep the fences approximate, and bring a little joy into these dark times. We have no idea what we’re doing, and we’ve decided to do it anyway, loudly, where everyone can watch. Come along for the wild ride. Bring gloves — we still have posts to set.