Sacrifice and Love in Every Bean – Juan Carlos’s Coffee Story

The Life of a Colombian Coffee Farmer

My name is Carlos, but everyone around here calls me Don Carlos. I’m a coffee farmer from the mountains of Jericó, Antioquia. I’ve worked this land since I was a child, just like my father and grandfather did before me.

Every morning, before the sun even touches the hills, I’m already awake. I drink a small cup of tintico, look up at the sky, and thank God for another day. The birds start to sing, and that’s when I know it’s time to begin. I walk up the steep paths of my farm, boots covered in mud, heart full of hope.

This coffee—it’s not just a plant. It’s my life. My hands have planted every tree here. I know each one like a friend. Some give more fruit than others, some are stubborn, but with time, care, and love, they all produce. We don’t use machines here. Everything is done by hand—picking, washing, drying. It's hard, but it's honest.

Those Friendships You Never Forget

My friend José, who lives down the valley, says we carry the stories of our ancestors in each bean. He’s right. When we gather to share a beer after a long day, we talk about the old harvests, the years of drought, and the times when the whole village helped carry the sacks down the mountain because the mule broke her leg.

We laugh a lot, even through the struggle. There’s something magical about working with the earth, knowing that somewhere, someone far away is drinking a cup of coffee that came from our sweat, our soil, our stories.

This is how I feed my family, how I send my daughter to school, how I keep my father's memory alive. Coffee isn’t just our work—it’s our way of life.

So when you taste it, remember: behind every bean, there’s a hand like mine. A heart. A home. A story.