Leisha Personal reflections, in this moment, as I sit inside the unfolding reality of creating Living Ground and living inside the obstacles that come with it, both visible and invisible, practical and emotional, internal and external.
I find myself feeling more emotional than usual right now, not because something dramatic has happened in a single moment, but because I am stretched in many directions at once, carrying responsibility, vision, labor, money, relationships, and expectations in a way that quietly accumulates until it reaches a point where it must be acknowledged, even by me, who is not accustomed to stopping long enough to name it.
There are moments when I genuinely question what I am doing, not in a dramatic wtf sense, but in a grounded, human way that comes from trusting deeply, feeling deeply, and realizing that my tendency to care and to assume shared values can sometimes result in misunderstandings or unintended harm, which weighs on me far more than it likely does on those who only see fragments of who I am or what I am building. I know my shadow side, I am not unaware of it, and the awareness of it often carries a heavier emotional cost for me than it does for anyone observing from the outside, because I replay interactions, question motives, and sit with the discomfort of knowing that even good intentions can land poorly when context, culture, and expectation are not aligned.
I often feel as though I get just far enough ahead to catch my breath and recognize progress, only to lift my head and see how much more still needs to be done, which can feel overwhelming in ways that are difficult to explain unless you are the one holding the whole picture rather than a single task or outcome, and yet, despite that weight, I continue moving forward because stopping does not feel like an option and because the vision itself continues to pull me onward even when my energy feels thin.
There are particular moments, like now, when too many things are happening simultaneously, or important things are stalled, delayed, or simply not working as intended, and the accumulation of those moments leads me to ask myself, quietly and honestly, what the hell I am doing and whether the way I am giving, investing, and showing up is actually being received in the way I imagine it is.
Living and working within a culture that is not my own adds another layer to this experience, not because one culture is better or worse than another, but because difference itself carries friction, especially when it comes to communication, expectations, and the interpretation of effort, generosity, and responsibility. I often enter situations believing that I am helping, honoring, or supporting in ways that feel obvious to me, only to later discover that those same actions are interpreted very differently by the people on the receiving end, which leaves me feeling disoriented and unsure of how to bridge that gap without losing myself in the process.
I have put my life, my physical labor, my emotional energy, and my financial resources into creating Living Ground and supporting the community around it, often using money that I actually need to earn because I do not have a financial cushion beneath me, and when I attempt to speak about this or ask for acknowledgment, the response I often hear is that people work hard for their wages and that they do not have the same opportunities I do. I understand that perspective on an intellectual level, and I respect the reality of economic disparity, but I also feel that there is little understanding of what I have actually been doing, risking, and carrying behind the scenes, which leaves me feeling unseen in ways that are difficult to articulate without sounding defensive or self centered.
What is rarely visible is that I am working from a long held vision that I have been moving toward for five years, most of which unfolded quietly, internally, and without external validation, through study, observation, trial and error, and an ongoing commitment to learning rather than arriving. From the outside, it can look as though many things appeared all at once, but the truth is that very little about this project has been sudden, easy, or accidental, and much of it has been shaped by necessity, resilience, and lived experience rather than idealism.
The store itself is often misunderstood as simply a place to sell products, when in reality it is a testament to self preservation through food, medicine, and storage, rooted in an understanding of fragility in global systems and the importance of local nourishment, resilience, and preparedness. The fact that we may have more food storage than anyone locally is not about excess or privilege, but about foresight, memory, and an understanding of how quickly stability can disappear when systems fail or when access is interrupted.
Then there are the gardens, both here and at the project site, and the deeper challenge of working with Ecuadorian soils that are shaped by intense sun, heavy rains, and dense clay, all within a landscape where deforestation and depletion have already taken their toll. The dominant local way of working the land is not restoring these soils, and yet it continues unchanged, repeating patterns that no longer serve the land or the people relying on it. I find myself repeatedly asking for simple shifts, such as leaving pulled weeds on the soil rather than removing them, explaining that they are not waste but protection, food, and a way for life to return to life, and still watching those weeds be removed again and again, which can feel like banging my head against a wall while trying to speak a different language entirely.
Eventually, words began to feel insufficient, so I spent two full afternoons in the garden quietly doing exactly what I have been asking others to do, laying biomass down, working with the soil rather than against it, hoping that witnessing the process might communicate something that instruction alone has not been able to convey, and trusting that understanding, if it comes, will come slowly and through experience rather than explanation.
I am not local, and I do not pretend to be, but I am a gardener, and I am a northern gardener living in Ecuador who has watched closely, learned continuously, studied deeply, trialed relentlessly, made many mistakes, and who still wants to keep learning rather than claiming authority. I carry a respect for land, soil, and living systems that has been shaped by years of observation and responsibility, not by ideology, and while that does not make me right, it does mean that this work comes from commitment rather than control.
Living Ground is not an idea to me, it is a lived reality that asks something of me every single day, and even in moments like this, when I feel tired, misunderstood, emotionally exposed, and unsure of how to bridge the gaps I keep encountering, I still know why I am here and why I continue, not because it is easy or comfortable, but because it feels necessary and because the work itself continues to teach me, challenge me, and ask me to grow alongside it.
