Leisha Our Gratitude Meal this weekend was about the color of Red.
Not by accident and not really intended
Sales have been down lately. I have been showing the team the real numbers, the relationship between income and expenses, so they understand what it takes to sustain a place like this. Right now those numbers are in the red. That is often the reality when you are building something from nothing.
Fewer people are coming out to Living Ground, and when you build something with the hope that it will sustain itself, that reality lands heavy.
I try hard, and now I have a team with me trying hard too. Gosh, this warms my heart because I have felt for so long I am carrying this alone. If we cannot do this together, then there is something terribly wrong in our collective psyche.
I get it. Money makes the world go around whether we like it or not, and for a place like this to keep going it needs support. I do not have money, but I know how to earn it, and everything I have made over the past five years I have put into this project. That is not the norm in today’s world of accumulating wealth so one day you can sit comfortably in the age of your elder-dome.
For the first time, I feel the team here truly understands that. That is worth more than financial security to me. It is an experiment in which I may fail.
The core team works hard and always have, because they are built that way. It is the Ecuadorian way and because of this, I am one of them.
In many ways we are different, and in many ways we are the same. Today some of them even volunteered their time to help keep things moving forward and work toward a common dream. Watching that kind of commitment brings tears to my eyes. It reminds me that what we are building is not just a café or a small business. It is something people feel part of. Yet this moment comes at the same time that I am struggling with life shit. The shit that makes you ask “should I stay or should I go now?”
Still, the question sits there in the quiet moments that take over my mind and heart. What are we missing? What are we not doing? Why can we not sustain ourselves with all that we are offering and doing?
Yes, we are fifteen minutes outside of town which is the biggest complaint I hear for potetial supporters who know what comfort and convenience is. I understand that. It is not a place people stumble into while running errands. Coming here requires intention. It means making the decision to drive out, to step away from the easy flow of town life and come sit among gardens, microbes, herbs, and soil. That alone changes the rhythm of how people show up.
We have a lot to offer, and perhaps the trip is worth it. That has been my goal and intention. If it is not, then that is frustrating, because what we offer would be almost impossible to create in much of the western world without layers of bureaucracy and restriction.
Here we have the freedom to build something real, with locals and foreigners working side by side to offer something meaningful to the community.
If we cannot sustain locally, then what is next? How do we do it? What are we missing?
Sometimes I wonder if the idea of “self sustaining” in the normal business sense is not quite the right measure for a place like this. And, that saddens me because so many come to a place like Vilcabamba to find a new core of life and living.
Maybe this phase is a stepping stone toward something larger that I cannot yet fully see. Living Ground has always been more than a café or a garden. It is an experiment in how people reconnect with soil, microbes, food, and each other. So, we continue to that purpose.
I will admit that I am tired sometimes. Carrying a vision for many years requires energy, patience, and a constant balancing of practical realities. At the same time, I do not feel discouraged about the deeper purpose of this place, because the work itself continues to show me that it matters. It really does matter despite me and even if I am not present.
Sometimes life adds its own challenges at the same moment we are trying to build something meaningful.
What moves me deeply right now is the support from the people around me. The team sees the effort. They see the purpose. When they step forward and help hold the weight of this place with me, it reminds me that something real is happening here. It also comes with the realization that I have been a driving force behind this project, and I sometimes wonder what happens if that momentum fades.
It also makes me think about something I have witnessed many times in Vilcabamba. Wonderful ideas spark into life. Creative projects appear with energy and hope. Then quietly many of them fade away. The support seems to be there, yet somehow it is not enough to keep the momentum going. It almost feels like a pattern that repeats itself. Often the support simply is not there, and that is why things stop. That can be confusing. Many people come here to live a different kind of life, yet do not always support the foundations that make that life possible. And yet many do, and that is why we have survived and continue. It is a paradox of sorts.
Part of it may simply be the reality of small communities like Vilcabamba. I have seen this over and over during the fifteen years I have lived here. Projects and ideas sprout, and many of them eventually disappear. Why?
People care, but they also have their own lives, struggles, and priorities. A place like Living Ground asks people to participate in something deeper than a quick purchase or a convenient stop. It asks them to slow down and think about soil, food, microbes, health, and community. Not everyone is ready for that every day.
So maybe we expand. Just like healthy soil, diversity matters.
There is also the cultural bridge that I have been walking for years. My mind and experience were shaped somewhere else, in another system of thinking about projects and sustainability. Here things move differently. Relationships matter differently. Support shows up in ways that do not always appear on a sales sheet.
Years ago I sometimes felt alone in that tension while trying to reconcile two worlds that operate by different rhythms. Today I do not feel that loneliness. The people around me have made sure of that.
Through all of this, one thing has remained clear to me. When difficult moments arrive and everything is stripped down to the essentials, I know I am exactly where I need to be. This land, this work with soil, microbes, plants, and food, has unfolded step by step through years of curiosity, mistakes, learning, and determination. In the end, this work is deeply important.
Living Ground may still be finding its shape. The café may grow into more of a gathering place. The deeper work of soil, gardens, fermentation, and plant medicine may become what draws people here more intentionally. The writing and teaching may grow in ways that help sustain the land itself. Perhaps we even aim for something larger than local support if that support continues to be limited.
I do not know exactly how that will unfold yet.
What I do know is that the work itself matters. I am deeply true and aware of this.
The gardens are alive and ask for my presence. I have always been present with the way I work with gardens and land, although that is harder for me at this moment. The soil is waking up. Microbial life is returning to the ground beneath our feet. People who come here begin to see the connections between soil health, plant health, food, and their own bodies. That awareness spreads quietly, like seeds carried on the wind. So, in times like this, I just go to the garden as my therapy. I weed like a crazy women. I really do!
Sales may be down right now, but the purpose remains strong.
Sometimes the quieter seasons are simply the time when deeper roots are forming beneath the surface, preparing the ground for what comes next. Diversity, and next levels.
Places like this only exist when people decide they matter enough to keep them alive.
Gardens do not grow themselves, and spaces where people can sit together over food grown from living soil do not appear by accident. They exist because someone builds them, and because others choose to show up.
The gardens are alive and ask for my presence. I have always been present in the way I work with land and gardens, although that is harder for me right now. The soil is waking up. Microbial life is returning to the ground beneath our feet. People who come here begin to see the connection between soil health, plant health, food, and their own bodies. That awareness spreads quietly, like seeds carried on the wind.
When things feel heavy, I go to the garden. It is my therapy. I weed like a crazy woman. I really do.
Sales may be down right now, but the purpose remains strong.
Sometimes the quieter seasons are when the real roots are forming beneath the surface, preparing the ground for what comes next.
Places like this only exist when people decide they matter enough to keep them alive.
Gardens do not grow themselves. Spaces where people can sit together over food grown from living soil do not appear by accident. They exist because someone builds them.
And because others decide they are worth showing up for. Red is powerful medicine.
