Nelson's mother's house, La Encarnacion, Honduras, Central America. This morning I wake up in a blur, asking myself what room, town, or country I'm in. When I awake fully, I ask myself what I'm doing wandering all over Central America by myself. Here I am in the small town of La Encarnacion, tucked away in a land of dramatic mountain peaks and several hours from the nearest city. There are many pictures of Jesus and the Virgen de Guadalupe hanging on the walls, books, and clothing that belong to someone else. I'm borrowing this room for the night where one of the coop members' mother usually sleeps. She's across the border in Guatemala for some medical treatment, so they have offered me her room to sleep for the night. I make myself at home here in this unfamiliar pueblito. 

I arrived here yesterday on an exploratory trip to learn about a new co-op we are going to begin working with this year. I had spent the previous week just across the border in El Salvador with another delegation and decided to take advantage of the proximity to meet some more farmers here in Honduras. After a short stop in the rural community of Rutilio Grande where I reunited with the folks I was living with last year, my friend gave me a lift into town on his moto. I sat and waited at the Texaco gas station in Aguilares for yet another pick up truck to take me away to Honduras. Nelson walked up, assuming I was the Julia he was supposed to meet here. It must have been my gringa features and coffee in hand that gave it away. He wore his COPROCAEL shirt assuring me that this was the Nelson that was supposed to introduce me to his cooperative. And off to Honduras we went, crossing the boarder and winding through mountains, squished in the front seat of a pick up truck. Slightly apprehensive about traveling to a new country and new cooperative by myself, I reassured myself that I would be well taken care of by my fellow human beings. Past pine trees and cool mountain air, I was reminded of Montana's small rural towns at the base of dramatic peaks. From Santa Rosa Copan, we visited COPROCAEL's newest baby: Cafe Honor, an outlet for these producers to close the chain in their production process. I was impressed by both their organization as well as the quality of coffee that was served here.

A few hours later, we arrived at COPROCAEL's facilities, where I was introduced to their wet mill, worm composting facilities, drying patios, mechanical dryers, cupping lab, and friendly staff surrounded by coffee farming communities deep in the mountains of Ocotepeque. Gregorio Portillo was waiting for us just over the mountain at his home in the tiny community of El Naranjo to share his experience of growing coffee during the past fifty three years. He's a simple man with a gentle smile and defined features. He shares with me the benefits of being organized in cooperatives and also the struggles many of his cooperatives have dealt with in the past, some surviving bumps in the road and others falling apart. He has lived through the ups and downs of the international coffee market and has seen it all. His family has relied on coffee production for decades, always being forced to conform to the obscurities that the market provides. "All we can do is cry when we cannot sell our coffee," he tells me about what they do in a bad year. Contrary to other parts of Central America, production yields reached record highs this year in Ocotepeque and that, combined with record high prices allowed some farmers like Gregorio to strike it big this year. Investing in new plants, farm maintenance, lumber trees, and his grandchildren's education were all things Gregorio hoped to do with this extra bit of cash. "I don't want to hold onto money," he tells me, "Extortions are common with people that hold onto too much money." We said our goodbyes and stopped at the Pulperia, the community's mercantile shop for some juice to quench our thirst. Children were running around behind the counter eating candy and helping their mother as people came and went asking for Pepcid AC, a bar of soap, chips, or a soda. People would hang out to chat, and nobody seemed to be in a hurry. We got to talking about coffee and the role it played in this community. "How have things changed in the community as the price of coffee goes up?" I asked the woman running the storefront. "There is a lot more money flowing in and out of the community, there is an obvious change," she tells me. Individual farmers (who are not organized in cooperatives) make up the majority of this community, and are seeing a huge boost in their income this year. Because conventional coffee prices have skyrocketed, individual farmers are reaping the benefits of this increase since they do not have to worry as much about quality, transportation, certification, and other costs associated with being organized in a cooperative or participating in the export market. After asking what they were doing with their newly acquired money, she responds, "Fire arms, motorcycles, and refrigerators." Huh, I thought, as my eyes opened a little wider. And off we went, bouncing around while reggaeton pumped out of the speakers, back to the cooperative's headquarters.

After a tasty and informative cupping session with Dany, COPROCAEL's cupper who recently won third place at the Coffee Fest competition, I was invited to the home of one of the producers in the town of La Encarnacion a cenar. This tiny town filled with cobblestone streets and colorful buildings runs on coffee, literally. The mountains that surround this pueblito are filled with coffee trees, and whether they are drinking it, harvesting it, selling it, or talking about it, coffee influences the way La Encarnacion runs in a major way. When the price of coffee worldwide goes up, more money and goods flow through the town. Coffee is the base of this town's economy.

Over a typical dinner of beans, tortillas, cheese, and fried plantains, I talked to Myrna about what goes on here in La Encarnacion. Aside from being married to a member of COPROCAEL, Myrna is the vice-mayor as well as one of the few doctors in town.  Having left the capitol city for the simplicity of small town living while in residency, she settled here 15 years ago to practice medicine. At the public health clinic in town, she sees patients that are directly affected by coffee production. Here children often spend their days in the farms, helping their parents harvest coffee for extra cash. "There is a lot of poverty here and kids are malnourished, and many have stomach problems (especially during the harvest season) as a result of eating the ripe cherries off the tree" Myrna shares. She shows me the skeleton of a clinic for women and children which has been constructed, but is lacking the funding needed to successfully operate. It is a facility Myrna sees as essential to the health of this community.

Early the next morning, Nelson and I joined his uncle for breakfast at his home. In the early mornings, Francisco is a dairy farmer and by day he serves as the principal at the school across the river. But this morning, classes have been called off and he is not in a rush to get to school, so we take our time eating plantains and requeson, fresh from the three cows that are hanging out back. The night before, we had walked past military patrolling the town's streets, apparently there to make sure the recent teacher's strike didn't get out of hand. Classes had been called off for ten straight days since teachers refused to present themselves at schools until an agreement was reached with Pepe Lobo, Honduras' president. We sit and talk about the current situation, Francisco explaining the reality affecting teachers throughout the country. They were demanding backpay for 6,000 teachers and protesting a new educational system proposed by Pepe Lobo (who took office after Manuel Zelaya was ousted in a military coup in June of 2009) that they say would privatize and concentrate the educational system in local governments, while politicizing schools, cutting salaries and retirement benefits, as well as teachers' independence. Although on a much different scale, we discussed the similarities between these strikes and the mobilizations happening in Madison during the past month, and the need to fight for something bigger. Aside from the protests, we talked about the challenges that local schools face, again with high levels of poverty as a large portion of the students' families participate in the coffee process in some form or another. This means that during the harvest season, many children are in the fields rather than school assisting their parents picking cherries. After visiting with another successful farmer, we headed out of La Encarnacion towards Copan. I accompanied the Coop on a trip into town to send one of their pre-shipment samples back to a roaster in Wisconsin. While there we had the opportunity to spend the afternoon at the Copan Ruins, the stunning, ancient Mayan archaeological site in the northwestern corner of the country. Because of the way the highways worked, in order to get back to El Salvador, we had to dip into Guatemala for a few hours. We passed by the town of Esquipulas for a visit to the Center of Faith in Guatemala. Replicas of Jesus, rosaries, and candles surrounded the pristine white cathedral in the middle of town. We failed to find a decent cup of coffee, so Dany and I traveled on southward back into Honduras. Six new passport stamps later, I was finally back in El Salvador to celebrate the Comunidad Rutilio Grande's anniversary with a soccer tournament, dance, and another bout with parasites.

And now I've landed back in Madison after another two and half weeks on the road in El Salvador and Honduras. I arrive cold and relieved late in the evening, my clothing trying to double for tropical and sub-arctic conditions (i.e.. sandals with wool socks). I'm back with my things, familiar pictures and books and food and my bicycle. And I begin to unpack. The dirt covered clothing from hikes through the coffee farms. The scent of the ocean. Honduran Limpiras. (Exploded)Bottles of Honey. My passport. Green coffee bean samples. And my Red "It's hard to be humble when you're from Wisconsin" shirt that I so proudly wore to the Tractorcade around the capitol square the day I left for El Salvador. Before long it was early the next morning, and again I was unsure of which community, city, or country I was in before opening my eyes. The grey winter-turn-springish skies and bare trees, waiting to bloom were oddly comforting as I woke up and glanced outside. I'm home. My room, Madison, WI, USA.