When we built our farmstead creamery back in 2005, it had no windows. It was a large make room with a 52-gallon vat pasteurizer, a three-bin sink, a hand sink and moveable stainless steel work tables and shelving. The spartan white washable walls, the harsh fluorescent lights, and the mud-gray concrete floors evoked sterility (a necessity according to the Illinois Department of Public Health) and sonic barrenness.
I mostly worked alone in those early days, save for some part-time help and the occasional visit from my Massachusetts mama. She wanted to be helpful, so I put her to work packing chèvre. She reminded me of Lucille Ball in the chocolate factory episode, with her ill-fitted hair net, too large vinyl gloves, uncanny ability to get cheese everywhere, and her painfully-slow-but-hard-to-get mad-at pace.
The make room begged for background sound to temper its emptiness. I plugged in a radio to listen to NPR. I could barely hear the chatter over the din of the pasteurizer’s agitator motor and the whoosh of the recirculating pump that heated the vat. Talk radio predominated: Morning Edition, Fresh Air, All Things Considered, along with our local public radio’s programs. I was not a fan of our local music stations. Occasionally, I would plug in my CD player and spin some tunes, but the hot and humid environment proved hostile to the electronics. Those were the days before smart phones and Spotify.
After several years, we installed a large viewing window in front of the wash sink. It was an investment born partly from mental health concerns and visitor viewing opportunities. Once installed, I couldn’t believe we had made cheese for so long without a window! Peering outside while washing dishes enhanced the staff’s quality of life in the creamery, which had grown to four people.
- The original creamery make room of Prairie Fruits Farm & Creamery, circa 2005. Photo by Leslie Cooperband. Photo by Leslie Cooperband.
- Soapy chèvre baskets. Photo by Leslie Cooperband.
- The original creamery make room of Prairie Fruits Farm & Creamery, circa 2005. Photo by Leslie Cooperband.
Before long, music was emanating from phones. The sound quality was better than radio but not high fidelity. It was more than acceptable, given the constant cacophony of machine hums and screeches and the sounds of running water. Collectively, we developed a musical etiquette for the creamery. If someone was alone, they could make the executive decision about what music they wanted to play. If there were two or more working together, they had to agree on the playlist, or at least agree to take turns selecting the music for the jobs at hand.
Everyone had their favorite genres of music to get them through the drudgery of repetitive tasks. Folk and indie rock were suitable for cheese ladling and wrapping bloomy rind cheeses. Some people needed crazy-loud punk rock for cleaning and dish washing; others preferred Latin dance music. One or two people needed Guns N’ Roses and Led Zeppelin to get them through a 500-container chevre pack. Others preferred Frank Sinatra and Cole Porter songbook covers. My music selection opinions began to take a back seat to those of my staff, as the farm and creamery businesses grew and I was pulled in a million directions.

Wheels of Angel Food, a brie-style cheese by Prairie Fruits Farm & Creamery, ready to be wrapped. Photo by Leslie Cooperband.
Yet, when I was alone in the creamery—which was often the case in the evenings and weekends—I could play whatever I wanted. I confess I had resisted buying a smart phone when they first came out. I didn’t think I needed that level of technology in my life. When I lost my flip phone somewhere on our long driveway, I decided to take the plunge and buy my first iPhone.
The culture of “apps” was a revelation. I could listen to radio stations on my phone that used to be my absolute favorites in other parts of the country. WXPN in Philadelphia had left an indelible musical mark on my brain from my east coast days. I especially loved the eclectic sounds of “The World Café.” The first music app I tried was Pandora, the free version. The incessant interruption from annoying ads and the limited playlists from their crude algorithms left me wanting. When Spotify emerged, I was hooked. Soon, I opted for a paid subscription, and before long, I was searching for the albums of my youth. Over time, I was listening to more music while making cheese than I was in our home.
I began to realize that Spotify would create playlists based on my musical perusing. It had amazingly good and accurate taste. I rarely skipped over the songs it selected. Once I amassed several playlists generated just for me, I could select the one I wanted based on specific creamery activities: a playlist for ladling chèvre, a playlist for washing raw milk cheeses, a playlist for knocking out hundreds of little cheese molds in the dish sink.
The first time I downloaded Stevie Wonder’s Songs in the Key of Life in the make room, I was transported back to the days of high school house parties, dancing jubilantly to Sir Duke/I Wish. This album was perfect for chèvre packs and room cleaning. Innervisions was more brooding and introspective, great for decorating Fleur de la Prairie, dishwashing, and indulging in times of emotional overload. Before long, it was Stevie Wonder all day: the young Stevie Wonder of Motown days, or the defiant Stevie Wonder of the mid 1970s. I needed all of him. I was ecumenical when it came to my favorite Latino crooners. Alex Cuba’s poetic Cuban rhythms and Juan Luis Guerra’s sensuous merengue were perfect accompaniments to chèvre ladles. Fito Paez, the Argentine rocker from the 1980s transported me back to my time in Costa Rica. I listened to his music when I needed inspiration to get me through a mountain of dirty cheese racks and mats.
- The cover of Stevie Wonder’s “Songs in the Key of Life.” Photo courtesy of Leslie Cooperband.
- The cover of Alex Cuba’s “Agua del Pozo.” Photo courtesy of Leslie Cooperband.
Sometimes, all I wanted was no-think Motown or R&B mixed tapes. On the 10-12 hour workdays, I let Spotify sense my moods and generate the perfect playlists to get me through the daunting number of tasks at hand. There were days that I needed the all-girl-power of Joni Mitchell, Suzanne Vega, The McGarrigle Sisters, Fiona Apple, and Joan Osborne to kick me into the grooves of chèvre-making and packing. I reserved my “happy mix” for Sunday mornings—Bill Withers, Marvin Gaye, Nina Simone, Paul Simon, and Natalie Cole. Their upbeat, effervescent songs cut through my inertia and buffeted my desires to be elsewhere on a beautiful summer day. When I was alone in the creamery, I could sing full throttle to my favorite songs and not worry if I no longer hit the high notes. When the strains of running the business overwhelmed me, I would stand at the dish sink, tears rolling down my cheeks, hot soapy water scalding my hands and let Stevie or Alex soothe me. Stevie Wonder and Alex Cuba—they became the soundtrack of my cheesemaking days.
Listen to Leslie’s Spotify playlist below.