Tag: long miles coffee project

  • In The Burundi Coffee Hills

    Let me begin by saying…

    These are the people,
    this is the moment,
    here.we.are.

    I have been feeling as if I owe you, big time. I feel like I owe you lots of images like this one. Images that allow you to see for yourself what the families who grow coffee in Burundi look like.

    Here’s your coffee, freshly picked and still in the cherry. This coffee is honey processed, which means it is picked, left unwashed to preserve every bit of flavor, and then sun dried on these tables.

    Here specialty coffee is being hand sorted. Which means it is being picked through to remove any defects. This coffee will be hand sorted five times. When picked, before being washed, after being fermented, after drying, and after dry milling (which removes the parchment).

    This scale is where a farmer’s lot is determined. Their ripe red cherries are weighed and a price is determined. The price for red cherries? About $.50 a kilo, or $.50 for 2.2 pounds. How can we get the farmers more money? If Ben finds during cupping that the quality of a certian lot is superior enough to be sold as speciality coffee, the farmer who grew it will get a bonus at the end of the season of double or triple per kilo and the coffee will be sold to the likes of Stumptown and Bean There.

    What if Ben wasn’t cupping to find these lots? More and more of the coffee would be sold as commodity lots to big coffee exporters who would turn around and sell it to the likes of Folgers and Maxwell House. They would then mix it with other commodity coffees and the people who drink it would never even know that they were drinking a Burundi coffee, or that the farmer only got $.50 a kilo.

    Of course, the kids are the heart breaking part. Without education, electricity, running water and proper nutrition what hope of a better life than their parent’s can they have?

    If their parents get more for their crop that is a good start to a better life, if the extra funds are managed correctly. But, as we all know, money does not solve everything.

    All that said, I have to tell you… the coffee hills are not a hopeless place. In fact, they are just the opposite. They seem filled with hope. The hope of the harvest and the strength that community living can bring.

    Being in the hills is an amazing experience. As an mzungu (white person) it is not easy to blend and we do become the village entertainment, but I suppose it’s the least we can do!

    I love this moment, this little kiddo in the oversized t-shirt was so scared of the white people and of our cameras, but once our good friend Wesley from Cooked In Africa Films showed him his picture he was all smiles. I do love film, but God bless digital!

    The hills reminded my why we made this leap and what it is all for…

    These are the people,
    this is the moment,
    here.we.are.

    That’s all for now,
    Kristy

  • Coffee Cupping

    Yesterday Myles and Neo and I followed Ben to his coffee lab. We did our best to destroy his lab and his coffee cupping notes, but we also managed to shoot a little. If you ever wondered what coffee cupping looks like… well, lets be real, you probably never have. But, we made a video for you anyways!

    Cupping is done to assess the quality of the coffee. The more good lots Ben finds, the better the price he can get for the farmers who produced it.

    Here are the steps to a proper cupping….

    a. husk
    b. roast
    c. grind
    d. smell
    e. brew
    f. break the crust
    g. smell
    h. slurp
    i. spit
    j. take notes

    Do that for 21 lots of coffee (five cups for each lot) a day and you might be able to keep up with our Coffee Guy.

    Untitled from longmilescoffee on Vimeo.

  • These Old Coffee Trees

    I just wrote a seven page report on the intricacies of this season’s Burundi coffee harvest.  I’m not going to let you get it!  If you love coffee, it’s like a good novel that you won’t be able to put down and it might just destroy any hope of productivity you have until you can lay your hands on a freshly brewed mug of this citrus sweet coffee.  That, or you’d be bored out of your mind. Or, you might read two lines and wonder how, despite the continuing social turmoil and simmering political unrest, I can coax tired old Burundi coffee trees and their skittish fearful farmers into producing the worlds best coffee.

    I knew if I was going to pull off finding 48 containers of the champagne of Arabica coffees I couldn’t do it standing still.  So, I was back in the hills of Burundi last week to survey the start of the harvest season and check on my chances for success. I was struck with the raw enthusiasm of the farmers as they poured their baskets of coffee cherries into the large fermentation tanks.  Blood red cherries sinking into tanks of mountain water, drowning, and then resurrected to face the pulping discs and fermentation tanks.  The raw enthusiasm for the start of the harvest was palpable. I was taking part in the start of of something great. The love affair of following coffee from these old trees to your cup.

    It was another week in the heart of Central Africa.  I got another taste of what I’m diving into.  I wonder, will these old trees be able to do it? They are generations too old and the soil is way too thin after one war too many.  Burundi needs new trees… or my dream of a better life for these farmers will not happen.

    Coffee Guy

  • The Teeny Tiny Human Dilemma

    undefinedundefined Moving has forced me to deal with my life and my future with head on brutal honesty. In this “moving space” I have to answer for everything I own. It all needs to be justified and categorized and color coded (ok, not really… but if my friend Trish were here, she’d have different colored post-its all over the place).

    Sell it or give it away.
    Store it.
    Move it to Burundi.

    Sometimes this categorizing feels freeing, like a chance at a new pared down way of life. At other times it makes me mad. Mad that I have to categorize at all. Mad that I can’t just own something because it’s beautiful. I am tired of justifying the endless uses of a potato masher to myself before packing it in the “going to Burundi” box. I don’t get a moving truck, just the back of a vehicle and a couple of suitcases. There is simply no room for things that can’t prove their purpose to me. Which means you can usually find me following Ben around the house like a puppy with before mentioned potato masher in hand, waving it while yelling, “Do they have potatoes there?” “What about pasta, did you see any pasta?”

    My boys, like all tiny humans, grow like absolute weeds and today I confronted the growing pile of itsy bitsy baby clothes that no longer fit my rolly poly 16 month old. They have been sitting there, staring at me, for months. Do I place them in storage in the hopes of having another teeny tiny human someday? Or, do I part with them here and now. Buying new clothes for a perfectly similar baby boy (just assuming, considering my track record) seems like a waste with all these cute baby clothes staring up at me. So does storing them if there’s never going to be another little man. Then there’s the additional, but unthinkable, variable… what if it’s a girl. That’s when my brain went into a tailspin and I began following Ben around, not with a potato masher, but with one big question… “Hunny, do you think we are going to have more kids?” Poor Coffee Guy, he just gave me a look like I had stabbed him in the side. Ok, so maybe that was a little too much pressure, but what am I supposed to do about this teeny tiny clothing dilemma?

    You see, I already know what it’s like, opening those forgotten boxes. Staring at things you don’t remember ever owning and thinking to yourself, “Why on earth did I ever think this was worth keeping?” “How old IS this?” “Does this even work?” I’ve been there, I was the bride who stored her wedding gifts in her parents basement, never used, and took off for a faraway land. Is that kind of bride even in a category? Maybe like “Adventure Bride” or “Faraway Bride” or “Other Continent Bride.” Anyway, before I start coming up with even stranger bride categories, it’s here I stop, except to tell you that most of my little boy’s teeny tiny things now reside at the center for abandoned babies, Shepherd’s Keep, just two minutes from our house. I think they will be put to a much better, truer more beautiful use there. Letting go is a beautiful thing.

    Luv,

    Kristy (the mother of a toddler not a newborn)

  • Riding Burundi Roads at My Peril

    With internet spotty at best up in the highlands of Burundi this post will undoubtably be short.  I just can’t help but share in what is taking place though.  By far the most productive trip yet to Burundi I’m in a celebratory mood.  Except that my sore back, hurting bum and broken ribs (long story about why you shouldn’t play rugby in Burundi with American Marines could be inserted here!) will let my celebrations be limited to a beverage of choice and early to bed.

    The Beauty of Burundi is that I can sit in a “hotel’s” restaurant high in the hills of Burundi and listen to a Jordin Sparks (ya, I didn’t know until I googled her either) song on repeat being beat into my head.  So if I type “just one step at a time….” it’s not my fault.

    The past four days have been filled with incredible scenes of vibrant rolling hills, lush coffee trees pregnant with ripe cherries and aromas ranging from fresh sweet coffee smells to burnt roasting goat.

    I want to tempt your senses to try and imagine fresh(ish) goat being roasted on an open fire with green bananas that taste like potatoes to accompany.  How about hundreds of pounds of freshly harvested coffee cherries piled up ready to be washed clean of their pulp.  Or my favorite aroma of sweaty stinking people piled on top of each other and me as we wind our way up the mountains in a mini bus.

    Where do you drink coffee?  Intelligentsia? Counter Culture?  Stumptown?  Dunn Brothers? Bean There? I’m visiting the very farmers that are producing their best coffee.  It’s a good day in Burundi.  It would be great if Kristy and my adventurer boys were here too.  Just four weeks until we are all here!

    I may never feel or smell the same again.  But my discovery of this black gold is seductive and the hands that are processing it are the poorest and knurliest I have ever laid eyes on.  The adventure has begun.

  • Why Go.

    This little ditty was made because we want you to travel on this adventure with us. We need all the moral support and prayers we can get, we really truly do. And we want you to know why we are making this risk, why we believe it’s worth it.

    Long Miles Coffee Project from Cooked in Africa on Vimeo.

    The guys over at Cooked reworked this little vid for us and we think that’s just great. It was great before, but whew… now it’s a stunner. Shelly of Make My Day Pictures shot all the footage (except the Burundi bits) and became our friend in the process.

  • 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

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