Tag: adventure

  • Packing for Burundi

    I can’t say this has been an exceptional week.  I was on the phone with Wesley from Cooked in Africa Films and he could pick it up over the phone.  “You don’t sound your positive self Ben.”  And I haven’t.  It’s not so much the sheer mountain of logistics and details to organize, though the little things like visa’s for the five country-11 day road trip to Burundi do add up.  It’s an all-round atmosphere thing.

    Tension in the house with so many big decisions on our shoulders, and no more time to procrastinate has put the pressure on.  Four year old Boy Adventurer picks up on this and cranks up the whining to level 7.5.  Then teething Boy Biter adds in with non-stop whimpering and crying as four teeth try to break through his poor little gums all at once.  Ending nearly a decade of life in Durban South Africa seems to be filled with frustration and a time-bomb of anxiety and pressure dangling just above our heads.

    With all this boiling over frustration the best thing for me to do is go to Burundi, and leave Camera Girl with our two little darling boys and all the packing (hoping this blog post go’s unread by Kristy).  Reality is that I need to set up our business in Burundi and open a bank account so that we can get a work visa to live in the country.  Good news is that the ex-prime minister of the country and I have been talking and met a couple of times and he has his best lawyer working on this for us.  Then I need to travel into the hills to make initial contact with all the washing stations, convincing them to send me daily samples of their parchment coffee and find a person who can help me start to collect these samples, label them and make sure the washing stations follow through on any agreements we make.  Oh, yes, and the only other non-Burundian doing this just got death threats against him (don’t tell grandma).  To add to the legal stuff there is the “find a house” issue.  I don’t say issue lightly.  Burundi is a country with no real-estate agents or websites with video walk through tours and emails inquiry buttons to find out more details.  It’s a “drive around at night looking for dark windows because those are the houses no-one is living in and might be rentable” sort of place.  I’m going to be doing a lot of night driving next week.

    On the lighter side…. I do get to fly with a suitcase full of the first things we can leave in Bujumbura next week.  And with that added pressure/joy, the packing for Burundi begins.

    Coffee Guy

     

  • Home is…

    At the risk of sounding vain, I am going to share with you that one of my highest values is aesthetics. Just staring at beautiful things… man made or made by God fills my soul. The mountains, the lakes, the palm trees, the veins of a leaf, the sun light through the trees… and the cute dress, the lovingly hand knit blanket, the beautifully bound book, the amazing DIY project. It’s what makes me… me.

    Having an appreciation for these “things” makes me a better wife, a better mom, a better photographer… and it grows my love for God. That might sound funny, but it’s true. When I look at something beautiful He’s made “WOW” my heart goes pitter pat. And when I watch someone at work, doing what they do best, creating something beautiful, I am in awe of how God places visions and gifts inside people that just, when nurtured… grow. The truth is… I am inspired by beautiful things, the bought and the not.

    Soon I will be placing everything pretty I own, just about, into a vehicle headed for Burundi. That vehicle needs to travel 4,052 Kilometers through 3 or 4 border patrols over dirt, mud, tar and rock before it reaches Bujumbura. Once it’s there, if things don’t work out in our new home country… we have no clue how we would get our things out again. The same goes for the dog. Once we bring her in, I have no clue if we can get her out. The only thing I know we can get out is us. The thing that matters most… us.

    It is a fragmented feeling to put everything that makes a house a “home” to you inside a vehicle traveling an insane distance through dangerous territory with no back up. By everything, I especially mean the driver. Ben is the heartbeat of this family and the love of my life. Sending him on such a volatile journey just so that we can have a few our “things” in Burundi could be something I deeply regret if it doesn’t go as planned. Scratch that, of course it won’t go as planned, it never does in Africa. What I meant is… if something happened to him how in the world would I cope?

    So what if the curtains and towels and pots and pans and baking utensils and cookbooks and pillows and bedding and blankets and kids toys and kids books and even the medical supplies don’t make it? So nothin’. We would be fine, but having those things that remind us all that we are “home now” would bring us a whole lot of ease and comfort.

    My nervousness about this trip is not being helped by my  hubby who tonight said, “Oh… FOOD! We should probably pack some of that to eat on the way.” Yeah… let’s just say Coffee Guy is not into details, unless that detail involves coffee. Luckily for us, Ben had to delay his vehicle trip for a few weeks while we pray, on our knees, for all the vehicle funding to come though. In the meantime, he will have to fly up next week to house hunt and visit all the coffee farms he can. Oh, that reminds me… what should go up in that fist suitcase with Ben? Gotta think about that.

    Luv,

    Kristy

    image via Pintrest


  • My Coffee Journey

     

    Often I get asked “how did you get started in coffee?”  The answer lies beyond the buckets of Folgers that were brewed like a religious call to worship each morning as I grew up.  I guess the real start would have to lay next to the Mississippi river in the small university town of Winona, MN.  The best part of my college education, though I have only the highest respect and admiration for the art department (I don’t care what you say, Steve),  belongs to the boutique coffee roaster  Acoustic Cafe.  Many a late night I served over sized mugs of single origin coffee, long before it was the trendy marketing idea of third wave coffee houses.  The job did little for my already devastated varsity sleep patterns, but my barista skills, roasting knowledge and rudimentary cupping got their fledgling beginnings.  Really it was just a bunch of newly baptized coffee geeks experimenting, one batch and one poorly pulled shot at a time.  But it was a start.

    12 years later I find myself a bit more involved in the whole bean process, cupping and grading enough coffee to understand the difference between a wet processed and a dry processed Ethiopian and drinking enough espresso that someone can make my day by making it properly.

    The reality is that I am not the answer to all things coffee.  If a table was set for a dinner inviting the most knowledgeable coffee geeks in the world, I’d be the guy in a hair net washing dishes or pealing the potatoes.  But I’d be loving it.  Forever labeling me the optimist, Camera Girl chirps, “Why do you always think ANYTHING is possible?”  And that is why Burundi is such a tasty location for me.  It’s my way of sinking my teeth into the juicy ripe fruit of the Knowledge of Good and Evil Coffee.  I’ve tasted the fruit and I can’t stop now.

    Along the way I hope that this is not all for me.  It’s my ever optimistic attempt to combine my love of coffee with my love of relationships and the value of the individual.  Can I be Coffee Guy and impact a nation?  Will my wife thrive and succeed as a photographer and mom in Burundi?  Will Boy Adventurer and Mr. Biter excel, or will they become two strange Third Culture Kids?  That’s what this Long Miles Coffee Project is about to find out.

    Coffee Guy

  • Why Burundi, Pt. 2

    In my last post I told you that as a family, we needed some change. But of all the places in the whole of the world, why Burundi?

    Well, because we needed to face our fears and do it anyway!  Because it would be easy to stay in Durban, grow old in Durban doing the same thing the rest of our lives (we’re good at it and it is oh, so comfortable for us here!).  We knew that if we did that we would never experience the best life out there waiting for our family. The kind of life where you put your foot forward in the morning and don’t know what’s about to happen.

    Burundi fit that description for us and when we came face to face with the needs of the coffee farmers, we knew we had the skills to help… if we could just risk normality. We never would have chosen Burundi if we had been given a choice of a random three countries (it’s the 2nd poorest country in the world, fresh out of civil war and rebel conflict and still in shock over decades of genocide and ethnic conflict). When I first told Kristy that Burundi might be the right place for us, she replied with, “Is that a city?”

    But Burundi did have exactly what we needed.  Coffee, people and potential.  I live for potential.  It’s one of my driving motivators.  This place has more potential then any other african country to produce the best quality coffee on the continent.  It’s a country that derives 96% of its foreign income through coffee. It’s population has the lowest GDP of any country in the world and my eyes were opened to an amazing opportunity.  Long Miles Coffee Project is not just about me being a coffee guy, but its a chance to help an entire country through cupping coffee and showing it to the world.  For our whole family to step out together into adventure, risk, faith, and turn our world view on it’s head.  It’s revealing hidden treasure and rewarding the farmers who precariously grew this treasure never knowing if they would live to see the fruits of their labor.  It’s about transforming whole communities.   We are starting with their coffee but our hope is to change their lives holistically.

    I want to see these farmers live a better life.  Get a fair price for their coffee.  Give them a hope that trying harder will pay dividends. Walk with them as communities as they become self sufficient, caring, grace filled places of hope.  Connect farmers to agronomists whom I have invested in and mentored to share a greater hope then just more money and better crops.  To show my boys that they can do anything they set their mind to.  To live facing our fears.  To be adventurers.  Never hold back, especially when you want to.  Stop living a life of “I should.”

    Long Miles Coffee Project is my way to change our lives while attempting to change a nation.  It has the potential to be “too hard”, to break us, to burn us out…. but I think it will do just the opposite.

    Coffee Guy

     

  • The Stress-O-Meter

    Warning: These images have nothing to do with this blog post, except that looking at early morning moments with my boys makes me less stressed. You? Hmmm… doesn’t have the same effect on you? That’s weird.

    Once I took a crazy spring break trip with four cars worth of college students on their way to Florida for some sun. When you live in Minnesota, where winter barely ever ends, a trip to sunny Florida is the stuff dreams are made of. On the 24 hour drive we had walkie-talkies between the cars, and we traveled in a pack. Traveling was tricky with so many people who all have bladders, bladders that can only hold so much. Our four cars equaled over 20 bladders with very individual needs.

    That’s when my friend Amy, always ingenious, devised the Bladder Ladder. One being “We barely gotta go”, five being “Stop if the place doesn’t look too scuzzy”, and ten being “Oh boy, pull over before someone explodes”. Conversations between the cars went something like this, “Breaker-breaker-one-niner we’ve got an eight on the Bladder Ladder here. Over.” “Rodger that Green Monster and ten-four, that sounds BAD. We’ll find a ditch. Over.” To which a trucker, usually listening in, would reply, “You damn kids should get off this radio, what are you talkin’ about?”

    I now use the Bladder Ladder with my four year old hooligan Myles and it works like a charm, except that his answer is always a “one”. Always. I have also introduced a new gauge to our family life, the Stress-O-Meter. At one you’re sittin’ pretty, at five you feel like you can hang on to all things sane without banging your hands in repetition against the sides of your head, at eight your heart is palpitating wildly and your pupils are dilated and you are sweating bullets, and at ten it’s over. At ten you’ve crunched up into a tiny weeping ball on the floor. No tens… yet. I have visions that this lovely little “o-meter” of mine will be an excellent gauge for the health of our family. Ok, probably not, but it will hopefully take the edge off… of someone.

    Did you know that in just over a week Ben is hoping to drive our household goods through the heart of Africa to Burundi with our crazy neighbor Adrien as his side-kick? Did you know we still don’t have all the money we need for the vehicle they are supposed to “drive forth” in? Did you know I have no clue what to pack into that vehicle? Did you know that I worry that they will get hijacked or worse if they make this trip? Did you know that this week a cockroach crawled up my arm? It did! I flicked it off while screaming and running and doing a wacky string bean dance across the house. Then I laughed until I cried, along with everyone who witnessed it. Ben might not ever let me live that down. Ever. Did you know I sweat buckets when I’m stressed? Buckets. And I pace, I’m a pacer, I admit it. At least I don’t fart when I’m stressed. I’d never tell you that’s what my brother Brett does. Never ever.

    I’m sitting at about a 5 right now on the fancy dancy brand spankin’ new Stress-O-Meter. No a 6, yeah… definitely a 6.

    Wish me luck,

    Kristy

  • Expanding.

    Last night we signed papers to sell the house. It is a solid offer, and we”ll know within a few days if the whole thing is going through. I know it will, I can feel it. This is it. In eight weeks we will have the family packed and we will be leaving the place that I have called home for nearly a decade. The home I brought my children home from the hospital to. The home where we’ve had countless parties and numerous family style suppers, to the sound of the African night birds and the sight of twinkling fairy lights. We’ve hosted countless guests from all over the world here. Grandparents. Friends from college. Friends of friends. They have all had a space here. This is our home. Here we have journeyed into the people we have become. We’ve… Become parents here. Laughed here. Cried here. Lost things. Gained things. Failed. Succeeded. Pursued a big dream. Seen it come to life, seen it flourish, seen it move us.

    As I was photographing the most beautiful pregnant woman in the world yesterday, I could not help but think… as this baby comes, we will leave. Two births at one time. I feel tied to this baby I have not met, but already love. We are linked, because this baby is our starting marker. We will look back on life with these friends and say, “Don’t you remember, we left for Burundi when she was born.” As that baby grows multitudes every day inside her adoring mom, I am aware that this is urgent. Time is overpoweringly short, and this little baby girl has become my inspiration. She reminds me every day that I have to grow too. If I can not expand my comfort zone every day and embrace this journey every day I know I will fail to meet this amazing year head-on.

    Despite the sadness at leaving this house and this life, I am awe struck at the perfect timing of it all. Had we sold the house at any other time, we would have had to rent somewhere else before we left and it would have put our family in an uncomfortable limbo. For this perfect timing, I credit God in all his amazing-timing-ness. I am very grateful, and very sad. Now I have to decide what parts of my life will fit into 6 suitcases and one vehicle that will journey with Ben on an 11 day drive from Durban, up through the heart of Africa, hopefully arriving in one piece in Burundi. He will drive a vehicle that we have not bought yet, and that we have no idea how we will afford, on roads that I am trying desperately not to worry about, through countries that make my totally nervous. Here. We. Go. It’s time to trust.

    Luv,

    Kristy

     

     

     

  • Shakin’ in my boots.

     

    A guy with a whole lotsa fame to his name, Justin Bonello, looked me in the eyes this week and asked, “Aren’t you scared?” I had to think about it for a minute, and then I said “no.” It shocked me that I said no, I didn’t want to say no, and suddenly I got a little scared that I wasn’t scared. I wanted to say, “Getting ready to meet you, Mr. Superstar, had me shakin’ in my boots far more than the thought of moving to Burundi.”

    I should be scared, for cryin’ out loud, I’m moving my kids to the middle of nowhere Africa… but I’m not. Maybe I need a slap in the face (please don’t). I don’t think it’s because I am extra brave or anything, but the truth is… I am scared not to go.

    What would happen if we didn’t follow our dreams and just stayed in a place that was comfortable for us? I think that we would die a slow death. Risk is worth it, if it’s in pursuit of a dream that makes you “tick”. We were made for this, meant for this, we belong there. It doesn’t scare me, but the honest truth is… it totally overwhelms me. Right now I find myself unable to face the packing, the decisions, the “what to bring” lists, and the uncertainty of the months ahead. I’m tired and right now, it feels like too much for my heart to handle. I just want all the boxes packed, the goodbyes said, and the move finished…

    …and I want French to somehow inject itself into my brain and stick there, magically!

    Luckily for me I have three men in my life, two of them tiny, that make me follow rule #6 from The Art of Possibility (on my top 10 list for best reads of all time). What’s rule #6 you ask? Well, it’s “Quit taking yourself so damn seriously.” What are the other rules you want to know? There aren’t any.

    This afternoon I am hoping to apply rule #6 and have a little fun in “the now” just like we did on the beach last week…

    undefinedundefinedundefinedundefinedundefinedundefinedundefinedundefinedundefinedundefinedundefinedundefinedundefinedundefinedundefinedundefined Luv,

    me

  • A Dirty Bed Does It.

    It’s really early. So early that my kids are still asleep and the sun is barely in the sky. As a general rule I make it my prerogative not to get out of bed before my kids do. They are such early risers that I can’t bear the thought! But on this beautiful Saturday morning in South Africa, with the early rays of light finding there way onto my walls, I can’t help but be awake. We are supposed to Burundi in just three months. The end of February signals the beginning of “crunch time” in my head. Time to plan, pack, decide what the leave and what to take, get the house SOLD, say goodbye to a decade of life in Durban… but instead I am struggling to wrap my head around any of it. I want to go outside and stare at the sunrise forever, and forget about all the goodbyes, the new beginnings, and the FRENCH that is in my future.

     

    Someone told me at a party last night that my life sounds “so exciting.” I thought… “Does it?” Right now, to me, it sounds like a logistical nightmare that I can’t put off. We have to be there in June. There is no postponing it while I get all my ducks in a row. June is coming, whether I like it or not. It’s time to really own this future of ours. It’s time to believe in the impossible. It’s time to trust myself, my husband and my God that I can do this. I can live there. I can be a successful woman, wife, mom and photographer there. We can change the lives of people if we go, but the likelihood is that we will be the most changed of anyone.

    Risk has a way of breathing life into everything. When I woke up in the hills of Burundi, on a bed that was so dirty I could only manage to sleep on top of it, and pillow-less to boot, I knew my future was there. That was the moment, my moment, and it snuck up on me like the gentle shift of a wind on our beach at home. As Neo played under the mosquito nets in the early morning light on that dirty bed; I knew that we would be sacrificing the house, the relationships, the place that has made me into who I am. I don’t know who I would be if we had never moved to South Africa, but I don’t really want to meet her. South Africa is our home. My kids were born here. I grew up here, from newly married girl on an adventure to the woman I am now. I am so grateful for what we have met here… the people who are just like family, the constant sunshine, the beauty, the crime, the disappointments, the failures. It has all shaped me.

    I know I need to give it all up, risk it and re-create my definition of home. Home is wherever the three bodies that mean everything to me are. They are home, and this home is on the move.

    Happy Saturday,

    Kristy

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