In the misty hills of Vereda Vericuté, Floridablanca, Santander, Colombia, Laura and Johanna Pinto Gómez tend a small coffee farm that whispers of resilience and renewal. Barely two hectares, it’s no sprawling estate—just a patchwork of coffee, cacao, and plantains carved from inherited land and years of steady labor. Laura stepped into coffee farming after her father’s passing, taking on a modest plot of aging trees he’d left behind. She didn’t shy away; she rolled up her sleeves and started planting, pruning, and coaxing life back into the soil. Johanna, the eldest of four siblings, joined her, sharing a parcel passed down through their father from an aunt. What others dismissed as barren, she saw as a chance to build something lasting—for her children, Johanna and Stephan, who fuel her every move.
Today, the Gómez family thrives with 6,500 Castillo plants, shaded by a canopy of cacao, plantains, and avocados. They’ve turned degraded soil into a living ecosystem, fertilizing three times a year despite tight finances to pull high-quality beans—scoring 87 and 88 at the cooperative. Johanna’s hands have shaped this revival, and her pride peaked at a local contest. She entered a honey-processed batch, a leap into the unknown.
“I want our coffee known worldwide, sweet and rich with notes,”
she says, her voice still tingling with the thrill of that first-place finish at a local coffee event. It’s a taste of what’s possible, a hint of the global stage they’re reaching for.
Their journey wasn’t handed to them—they built it from scratch after their father’s absence left them to fend for themselves. Laura learned coffee step-by-step, from planting seedlings to harvesting, each lesson etched into her steady hands. The Global Coffee Alliance for Good (GCAG) training in February 2025 at Casa Blanca in Bucaramanga opened new doors. An engineer named David tipped them off, and alongside 18 other farmers, they explored sensory skills and brewing with TIMEMORE tools under Helena Oliviero’s guidance. Johanna was stunned by the revelations—water quality, grind size, a bad roast—all could unravel their hard work. Laura built on a past week at Chinchiná’s Escuela Nacional del Coffee, where she’d returned home buzzing with ideas to drink their own brew instead of market blends.
They’re patient dreamers. Laura envisions a brand with care in every detail.
“When our coffee hits the market, I want it right—from seedling to cup, something I’m proud to share,”
she says, her words a quiet promise to perfect it step by step. Johanna’s ambitions soar—she’s set on becoming a barista, undeterred by past setbacks when courses filled up or clashed with her kids’ needs. “These three days showed me what’s possible,” she reflects, her resolve firm. They call their dream “Don Esteban,” a family name not yet registered but alive in their plans, a symbol of where they’ve been and where they’re going.
Finca La Agüita is small—just a few pounds sold here and there—but its spirit is mighty.
“Shade-grown coffee brings back the soil, the birds, the life—we’re offering a clean cup and a cleaner world,”
Johanna says, her passion spilling into a vision that heals the land as it grows coffee. They’re not chasing quick wins; they’re building something sustainable, something their kids can inherit with pride. It’s a labor of love and sacrifice, a quiet strength that doesn’t shout but hums through every bean they tend.
This isn’t a tale of trophies—it’s the heartbeat of the coffee community, built by families like Laura and Johanna, not just champions.
“Santander has great coffee for the world, and Finca La Agüita is part of that—come taste it.”
Their invitation warm with gratitude and hope. Their story stirs something simple yet deep—a call to see the hands behind the cup, to support the growers who keep coffee alive, to cherish the humble roots that make this world so rich.
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