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Robin Seitz VP/GM Coffee Supply Chain and Private Partnerships |
A couple of years ago, I traveled to the Cocarive co-op in Carmo de Minas, Brazil, to create an exclusive origin-level blend for Parisi. The trip was intense, filled with countless cupping sessions, long drives through the countryside to visit farms, and meeting some incredible producers.
Our host, Pedro Chaib, only had a small hatchback to navigate the winding, rugged roads—which wasn’t exactly the ideal transportation for three adult individuals who aren't exactly small. To make things more comfortable, Pedro volunteered his father, Ibrahim, to join us with his truck after the first day.
I offered to ride with Ibrahim. He seemed like a good guy, but we had one small issue: he spoke almost no English, and my Portuguese was limited to "thank you."
The first few car rides were a bit awkward. We tried to bridge the gap with my broken Spanish, but it was challenging. I struggled to ask what they called certain things—unique trees, hill formations, the landscape—and soon, we found ourselves in an impromptu mobile school. Ibrahim would point to things, and I would learn their names, one word at a time. Like a child, I absorbed every little piece of the language, and slowly, we built a connection. It was beautiful to watch that bond grow across the barrier of language.
One day, on the way to lunch at Fazenda Condado, his farm, we turned off the highway onto the mountain road. Ibrahim gestured ahead and proudly said, "Estrada de Terra." I looked at him, confused. He repeated, "Estrada de Terra," pointing up the slope. I racked my brain, trying to figure it out. "Terra... Terra... Earth! Dirt!" And then it clicked—“Dirt Road!” I was so excited to have figured out the phrase! I could see the joy on Ibrahim's face as well. At that moment, we were truly connected.
The rest of the trip was much the same. Ibrahim continued to teach me new words, and in the process, I learned more about the beauty of Brazil and the people who grow our coffee. Though many of the words have faded from my memory over time, the connection I felt with Ibrahim and the land remains.
I grew up on dirt roads in Kansas, learning to drive on those same paths. And now, years later, I still find myself learning from those roads—about people, places, struggles, and the joys of this coffee industry.
Dirt roads connect people and places. They connect farms to cities, neighbors to one another, and friends across miles. And coffee does the same—whether shared across a table or between continents.
When it came time to name our blend, I knew exactly what it should be: Estrada de Terra—the dirt road that brought us together, the path that connects people and experiences in this beautiful world of coffee.