Coffee Thoughts

Am I writing too much? It is truly a pleasure to sit in the sun, and then in the shade, and then back to the sun with my laptop. There is so much to say, and so much to learn. The writing goes fast. Readers can leave messages at the bottom of the blog page, yes?

Each day we tell each other that we feel less tense inside, less stressed, although Pecos says my pint jar of early morning coffee winds me up for the day. I have nightmares of responsibilities from the inn and of grant deadlines looming, only to wake thankfully to the scent of orange blossoms, warm temperatures and the rising calls of the birds. It is so peaceful and beautiful, and if my family and closest friends were here I would stay.

Adults of the village are busy with the coffee harvest. Each day about 3 p.m. men and women and sometimes older children walk along the roads, machete in hand and a large sack or two of fresh-picked coffee beans slung over their shoulders. Occasionally a horse or mule loaded with sacks heaped on a rough-hewn pack saddle will be led along the road with a rope.

In the past and perhaps still in a few areas, coffee and other crops were laden on to wooden-wheeled carts pulled along the dirt roads by long-horned oxen. These carts, colorfully painted and decorated on every inch in symmetrical designs reminiscent of Dutch Pennsylvania art, are considered the national symbol of Costa Rica and its rich agricultural traditions. There is a beautifully painted cart hanging inside a barn at the corrals down the road – easy to see, as the barns here have no walls. There is no need.

Harvesters walk to the coffee weigh stations, which are colorfully-painted, open wood-framed structures at each village and sometimes at places in between. Delivery-size trucks ply these mountain roads to pick up the sacks at these tiny stations, often built at the edge of a steep precipice. At the pulperia in Socorro we bought a half kilo of fresh roasted, ground coffee and two bottles of juice for $4 total.

The coffee trees have bright shiny leaves, reminiscent of holly without the prickly part, and they grow to 15-feet tall. The mountainsides of the Talamancas are patched with deep green groves of coffee trees on their slopes and in the agriculture-rich valleys below.

I consider how shortly after meeting us Melvin had asked if we would use chemicals on our little finca – we quickly said no, no in unison – and how his father, Pa-pa, had stood proudly at the top of his mountainside and swept his arm over his coffee groves, saying no chemico, no chemico. We are spending a few months this year, and in years to come, in the heart of organic coffee production for much of the world. Signs proclaim that this is organico, fair trade coffee country. I am honored to be here. 