Leisha This is not the article people see when they scroll past a photograph of green gardens, bright salads, ferments bubbling in glass jars, or smiling faces around a Gratitude table. This is the part that sits behind it, the part where creation is not curated, but carried.
Living Ground did not arrive fully formed. It did not unfold as a smooth path of abundance and ease. It has grown in waves and every wave has carried both beauty and pressure.
I have built businesses before. I know the rhythm. You begin with vision and fire and you build momentum. The idea catches; there is excitement. Then you hit a threshold – a level where the idea demands more from you than inspiration. It demands structure, money, endurance, and a willingness to step into a bigger version of yourself and some dashes of unique ideas that are attractive to keep the customers and clients coming.
This is hard. And, at this threshold you either break through or you quietly step back and let it shrink. (see authors note at the end of this sharing)
With Living Ground, I have met those thresholds again and again.
Sometimes I ask myself what in the hell I am doing? Is it necessary? Is it seen as important? Do we have the support to continue? If the cash flow reduces, how can Living Ground sustain its’ mission? Will I need to reduce the staff load? Does the team understand these dilemnas? How do I communicate this in a culture and cultural thinking that is very different to mine?
The questions and queries and each time the challenge feels slightly different but the essence is the same.
Growth is not romantic. Growth stretches every weak seam and exposes every gap in your systems, every fragile financial thread, every cultural misunderstanding, every place where your dream is bigger than your current capacity. Do I have the capacity?
Right now, one of the most confronting realities is wages.
On average, each week it costs around one thousand dollarsto cover the team. These are real people; real families; real lives connected to this project. That money must be generated; it has to come from somewhere. It is my role to ensure income is coming in. Personally I have supported this for years from client sessions and my natural products but this is no longer sustainable. Income is required from landscaping jobs; from the café; from the store; from workshops; from product sales; from whatever creative channel can be opened that week.
We will soon open the hostel rooms and that might have another small potential to help out.
If it, meaning money, does not come in, unfortunately, we will disappear.
And if the operations does not produce it, then it must come from me. The truth is simple; I do not have a secret reserve; I do not have a hidden pocket of excess.
Some weeks I maneuver; I move funds from one place to another; I delay something; I advance something else; I transfer; I deposit; I calculate and recalculate. I ask how to generate more value without collapsing under the pressure of needing it to work.
This is the invisible mathematics of growth; the part that rarely makes it into photographs.
And then there is the second layer; the human layer.
One of my deepest desires has always been that Living Ground is not just employment; it is ownership in spirit. And, I appreciate the hard work from the team. And, I also see where time management can be improved and each person’s efforts is fully engaged with our mission.
I want the local team to one day feel that they run it, shape it, protect it as their own. I want them to own it in a way that they do not simply clock in and clock out, but see possibility. It is 4 oclock, time out! I desire they see leadership; see skill building; see that what is being created is more than a wage. I want them to understand that I work hard for them too.
But culture matters and they way we view things is different. I have tried to have this conversation before with the key team members and I was told “they work hard to live”. We all do. We all have too.
Ecuadorians are warm, present, relational. There is a beauty in the way they live in the “now” and “today”. Yet that same present-moment orientation can make long-term foresight feel abstract. If there is a job today and income this week, that is often enough. I have actually felt that sometimes speed is not the objective as with a job complete, will there be work tomorrow. This is not talked about but I have seen this happen.
The future expansion, the idea of applying a little more now to build something bigger later, does not always land with the same urgency it does in me.
So I stand in the middle of this tension; holding a vision of “we” while often living the reality of “I.” And, the question “what am I doing?” is on my plate.
I want to keep them employed. I want to see them rise. I want this to be theirs one day. If I die, I want this to be continued by them. I suppose this is my will and testament. If one day I am not here, this is my desire for the world to see.
I want something rooted in this community because I love them, it and what is possible.
And yet, I cannot carry it alone forever.
Growth requires shared vision; shared responsibility; shared stretch. At this stage, I am the general manager; the one putting out fires; solving problems; fixing what is not working; worrying; determining cash flow; making sure wages are met; holding the operational center while still trying to expand the edges.
There are moments when the pressure feels heavy; when I lie awake calculating next week’s payroll before I calculate my own needs; when I wonder if I am foolish to keep pushing forward; when I consider what it would be like to simplify, to shrink, to release the weight of carrying a team.
And then I walk the land. I see what we have accomplished. I see the potential of our future.
I see gardens that did not exist before. The land that was once compacted, dirty, contaminated earth. I see the growing trees that are now established because we did not quit during the dry months. I see our café space that holds conversations and nourishment that matter. I see team members who have grown in skill, even if they do not always articulate it. I see customers whose lives have shifted because this place exists and offers some hope.
And I remember why thresholds matter.
Every business reaches that moment where it must decide if it is a hobby or a structure; a passion or an institution; a dream or a responsibility.
Living Ground is no longer a small experiment; it is an ecosystem. It feeds families; it holds education; it produces food; it creates opportunity. I say this boldly because this is what it is about.
Ecosystems are not sustained by inspiration alone; they are sustained by circulation, by value moving through them, by community participation and by responsibility shared rather than centralized.
This stage is not failure. I feel like it is the awkward adolescence of something maturing. It is the phase where systems must strengthen, income streams must stabilize and leadership must deepen. May the vision expand to include practical resilience.
I share this not as complaint, but as transparency. I am not looking for sympathy, but to speak honestly about the realities of creation and this Living Ground experiment.
Life and building are difficult sometimes. They stretch you beyond comfort and ask you to become larger than you were yesterday. Staying true to a mission does not mean the path is smooth. It means continuing even when the numbers tighten and expectations misalign. These are times to recalibrate again.
Growth is uncomfortable. Quitting is final.
Living Ground is still becoming. And perhaps this is what real building looks like. It is not glossy photos sharing the outside picture. It is not effortless, It is alive, stretching, risking, rooting deeper each time the wind pushes against it.
Authors Note: Every week we have been offering a Gratitude Meal to share great food from the gardens and entice and welcome people to join us. This week it is make your own pizza party. We have one reservation. It can be disheartening. We will survive.
