Spotlight on Francisco

  A few weeks ago I had the opportunity to travel with a group of students from Wheaton College to the small mountain village of Azabache, near the border of Honduras and Nicaragua. Growers First has three coffee cooperatives in this area and it was my first glimpse of this breathtaking landscape. We spent a few days there camping out on the floor of a church where the members went out of their way to take care of us, preparing excellent meals inviting us into their homes, their church, and into their lives.

   Prior to this trip I met one of the coffee farmers from this area at a “Ten Seeds” training session near Siguatepeque. I was struck at that time by his personality; namely at his desire for advancement.   This small plot farmer from a very remote part of the globe was carrying a cell phone in which he had a service that updated him daily on coffee trading prices.








Plastic shelf used for sizing coffee beans.

Later when we visited farms near the training session he spotted a plastic shelf that another farmer was using as a sizing device for milled coffee beans. Seeing the value in this, a trip to market was arranged so this technological improvement could be employed back in Azabache. I want to share with you one of the things that really struck me during a conversation I had with this man Francisco Serrano while visiting his farm.



  First of all you must know that Francisco, while farming his small plot, is also very active in his community. He is currently serving as secretary of his co-op and our original meeting was at a training to help evaluate the needs of given communities. His personality is incredibly warm and he carries himself with him a great pride. Not the bad kind of pride that leads to arrogance but the kind that makes you want to be around him, the kind that comes with caring intensely about what you are doing. We traveled to his farm on a morning following some intense rainfall and the roads were not in the best of shape between his farm and the church where we were staying. Francisco made his way to the village and rode in the back of a pickup truck with us for the visit. When we arrived I watched as he hosted the students from Wheaton setting them up with picking baskets and showing them the ropes of picking.





Coffee/Corn mill

After getting them started he showed us his wet mill and recent improvements that allowed him to use the same gas engine to mill his coffee and grind corn for his wife to cook with. 




















 He demonstrated a mortar that had been passed down through the family that was used to remove the parchment from coffee beans. He showed us framed pictures of his children and spoke of them proudly.

His wife served us drinks and explained their large adobe oven.

   









This was a rich experience in and of itself. After the students had measured their picking and things began to settle a little bit, Francisco, Enoch, (Growers First National Operator and Linguist Extraordinaire,) and I squeezed in a few moments for a brief conversation. I, being a small plot vegetable guy, asked Francisco if there had ever been other things that he wanted to grow. I had noticed a small row of mixed plants immediately surrounding their home. He said this, “Coffee is my heritage. My wife is always asking when I am going to plant it in our house.”   He continued on telling us of how when his family had come to the area they had struggled dealing with monkeys and wild pigs and other wildlife. He told us how he left the area for a while and went to school in Danli and later returned. I had seen the pride earlier when he talked about his plants but it was this one sentence that struck me most. “Coffee is my heritage.”

  I grew up in a family of dirt people.  I know more about dirt than most people would ever want to. Even though the paths of life have removed me from the life I grew up in, dirt will always have a special place in my heart. Francisco’s words reminded me of my own heritage. That heritage is always there in the room, always waiting like a comfortable pair of jeans. It makes me wonder about the content of every dump truck that passes by. Makes me speculate on the destination or role of every piece of equipment I see. I see the world through it even though that life has been left far behind. Francisco’s words “Coffee is my heritage” means so much. It is not just something that he does.  It is in a sense part of who he is. Francisco is a craftsman of the coffee plant, an agricultural artesian by heritage. The coffee farmer’s work is to the cup just as the work of a painter is to the canvas, as the work of the Creator is to His creation.  There is great beauty in what man can accomplish by the work of his hand and this is a great reflection of the capacities which God crafted us with.  

   I have heard an expression many times in my life, “If you work at that which you love you will never work a day in your life”. When I see the care these farmers work with I see this is true. I often think about all of the physical work that these farmers put in to produce the best quality product that they can. They stay on their farms and they work as the market moves up and down. They climb up slopes to pick and prune and fertilize, they rush to mill and dry before one hint of quality is lost. They invest their lives to produce this little bean, which most will never see enjoyed by the final consumer.  They struggle in communities together helping each other with a sense of community that is vastly lost in the U.S. today.  Many live in areas with minimal amenities, no healthcare or electricity, water is a struggle, they have schools that are rustic and sparsely supplied.  Many might ask why. Why stay? While some may ask, I know why. It is part of who they are. Work and the quality with which we do it is how we can share who we are with others; how they can experience the joy of our hearts. In the case of Francisco, the joy of his heart can be experienced in a simple cup of coffee.  

Francisco has a great, contagious smile. 
I will have to get a better photograph of it next time I visit.