A Week at Abundance Farm (aka The Poverty Workshop)

Already the women on the bus had been given us a reason to raise our eyebrows ever so slightly about our destination. They seemed to chuckle knowingly when we enthusiastically informed them that we were planning to stay and work Pedro and Yasmina’s “finca organica” for a few weeks. The irony of Abundance Farm’s name, moreover, was apparent from the beginning: after a bumpy, hour long ride down a dirt road from Diriamba we arrived at a small unmarked property that looked much like it’s neighbors: a barbed wire fence with a border of cactus, a simple wooden shack, and a few thirsty banana trees that were not yet bearing fruit. We knew we were at the right place though, as we were warmly greeted by a couple of toothless grins and that of a young woman carrying a newborn baby in her arms whom we recognized from the farm’s website as Yasmina.

We offer this commentary for our friends, but especially for fellow travelers who may consider a stay at Abundance Farm. Like us, they may want to come to the farm hoping to contribute to an evolving organic farm and aspiring intentional community “striving for self-sufficiency,” a place where, as its website suggests “people live in harmony with nature and each other.” There were many comments from travelers that we were able to read once we were there, but it would have been nice to have a visitor’s perspective before arriving….

After dropping our bags in the dorm, we accompanied the entire family for a swim in the river. The waterfall, created after a portion of the river had been dammed, was a beautiful sight to behold. On the cliffs above was a large swimming hole about five feet deep, a place where we go to spend the best part of our days. At this time, our idealism of life at the farm was at its height: dusty dirt floors in the dorm--who cares! If everyday one can come to cool off in this clean, flowing water….

Like most new arrivals, we were hit by a few surprises on the farm almost immediately: to begin, Abundance Farm is quite small—one acre, including Yasmina’s family’s house. We wondered with a bit of dismay how a family of five, and all their working guests, was consuming the majority of its food directly from the land, as we were told. Of course, plenty of food could be cultivated on a plot of this size, but with Peter away, and 17-year-old Yasmina holding down Abundance Farm with 2-month-old baby Gloria, no one was working in the fields or garden beds while we were there.

After the river, Yasmina gave me a tour of the farm, which entailed pointing out the recently planted papaya and coconut trees; the sugarcane and yucca stalks in the field; and the practically abandoned beanpoles and garden beds, which were at present bearing only chiltoma, or chili peppers, though tomatoes had evidently been prolific before our arrival. Sweet potatoes were also in the ground, yet to mature. Aside from one other bush, whose name Yasmina couldn’t recall, but whose tiny leaves she assured me were edible, the farm consisted of these plants. In other words, we could help ourselves all week long to eggs (which were actually rationed and even hidden from us), yucca (a starchy tuber), chiltoma, batata leaves, and, if we were so inclined, sugar cane. The family would also provide purchased rice and beans. Where was the abundance of food that Pedro had assured me was growing on the farm just a few days earlier in our emails? I had specifically inquired about the availability of fruits and fresh vegetables, since this is primarily what we eat. “Lots of good food on the farm these days,” he wrote, adding only the day before we arrived that we might consider purchasing a few dozen oranges and mandarins and a few watermelons in Diriamba as supplement, for which we would be reimbursed. Was he out of touch with reality or did we have a different concept of “abundance”? Perhaps abundance was meant to suggest an aspiration, or a state of mind. Only in our final correspondence did Peter mention, in a casual way that suggested he would be returning shortly, that he wasn’t actually at the farm.

The main activity on the farm consisted of (paid workers) building the well, and feeding the chickens and dogs, tasks which Lydia from the UK, having arrived a week before us, was already handling. In addition, she was expressing her artistic side by painting the fences and doors around the farm. We chipped in as we saw fit, mostly preparing salads for the gringos (the only ones who were interested in our bizarre concoctions) and sweeping up dog droppings from the kitchen floor. It was clear that no one in the family was much of a farmer or particularly interested in organic cultivation—“Abundance Farm” was clearly Peter’s project.

We were additionally taken aback by a most significant and undeniable presence on the farm: 10 skinny, yelping puppies, each of whom spent most of its days tied up around the kitchen area, the farm’s only shaded outdoor space. They were all underfed and constantly thirsty, while we were expected to ration the water we gave them. When they were given food especially, and even water, they fought each other bitterly for access the bowls. They were starved for affection as well, as mostly they were yelled at or given a small kick to the side if they were a nuisance (which of course they were) while Yasmina prepared food. Why was a farm, where we ourselves had to negotiate to receive adequate food (“please, we need to go to town and buy some fruits and vegetables!”), feeding ten growing puppies?

Security. Yes, in fact, Yasmina was a bit obsessed with thieves, frantically washing every utensil each night before retiring and leaving nothing outside for an intruder to snatch. Other women we spoke to in the village assured us that the village of Las Mercedes was very safe and sane, where women need have no fear to walk alone at night. It seemed odd to us that while Yasmina’s two dozen hens and their chicks were kept under lock and key and counted each night to insure that none had been stolen, the neighbors’ animals for the most part ranged freely. It was true that at his last farm, in a more remote location, Peter had had been violently assaulted one night, though we never quite understood why…

Given the paucity of food available; the lack of any kind of regular work schedule or farm activities; the fact that not even meals food preparation and meals were done collectively (to each his own), combined with Peter’s absence, we felt that the whole advertising of Abundance Farm bordered on a scam. We were paying no small amount (by Nicaraguan standards) for our accommodations and food. As a point of reference, Yasmina’s father worked five days to make about 200 bags of charcoal, which was enough for two full days of selling in Jinotepe. For that full week of work, he earned about $55, minus expenses, less than what each of us was paying for our work-stay at AF. While we were there, Yasmina had no less than five paying guests—some paying more for a “private” room, once the four-bed dorm. What was the “abundance” of money being used for, if there was not even enough money to provide guests with enough food? (Lydia, who spoke very little Spanish, had to content herself with beans, rice, and eggs for every meal prior to our arrival.) According to Yasmina, it was used to buy food for the grain-fed chickens, the dogs, and the construction of the well.

Our time at Abundance Farm, however, was certainly not without enjoyment. Once we let go of the expectations that we had brought with us, we just enjoyed getting to observe life in a very rural part of Nicaragua we would otherwise never have visited. We observed how even the smallest children—Yacu included—joyfully participated in the hard work, while also having plenty of free time for playing in the river. We observed how proudly folks demonstrated their competences and accomplishments and welcomed us into their lives after only a few minutes of acquaintance. If we asked for directions, we might be accompanied on a half hour walk. We also realize how naïve we were to think that village life would surely mean that, unlike their more industrialized counterparts, children did something else with their days besides staring at a screen—even within the poorest shacks, which used plastic tarps as their roofs and look like they were on the verge of collapse, a TV was turned on day and night—a popular leisure activity where the majority of residents are only rudimentarily literate (most villagers cleverly “borrow” energy from the Spanish-owned electric company).

As we look back at our week at Abundance Farm now, and even while we were there, we could see that the experience was teaching us. We definitely appreciated that nothing was taken for granted: food, water, and fuel were all rationed. We also did our best to follow the example of Lydia, who never complained or became sour even though she was frequently treated like a domestic servant (perhaps it was to her advantage that she couldn’t comprehend what the family was saying to or about her!) And for me, perhaps most significantly, even in this most remote of locations, was a collection of dharma books for the inquiring mind.

Additionally, I've carried with me something from my conversations with each of the family members, especially Yasmina, who--like all of us I suppose--was sometimes greedy and demanding, at other times generous; both cold and aloof, as well as social and open-hearted; deceptive, as well as candid. For such a young woman from a very humble family, Yasmina was filling very grown-up and worldly shoes with the Abundance Farm guesthouse. She spoke with me openly about her domestic difficulties and about her curiously about my relationship with Orit and Yacu. While the financial gain from each paying guest seemed to lead Yasmina to objectify gringos as money-pockets (particularly those with whom little communication was possible), I believe there was a very strong realization, in our heart-felt and leisurely exchanges, of our common humanity and universal desire for love, happiness, and acceptance, in abundance.

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