Behind the thin rolling mist among the Nicaraguan mountains, I found green coffee berries glimmering under the sun like jewels. I had backpacked north to Matagalpa and Ocotal, Nicaraguan cities known for their quality coffee. Here, ample shade trees and high altitudes create ideal microclimates for coffee plants to thrive.

On most mornings, thick clouds wake the plants with gentle rainfall and send breezes down valleys to keep them cool. These environmental conditions have allowed the delicate arabica species (Coffea arabica) to thrive in the thick volcanic soil for generations. But producing arabica can be painstaking. Insufficient rainfall, diseases, pests, and warm temperatures can easily disrupt its lifecycle. I was here to learn more about the work culture of coffee farmers, but the patience they displayed in working their plantations also deepened my love for coffee.

Since its mass cultivation in 1850, arabica coffee became Nicaragua’s primary export crop with great varieties carrying unique flavor imprints. The country exported $558 million worth of coffee in 2021, and the north was responsible for 85 percent of it. That region’s high elevations, reaching 1,200 meters (4,000 feet) above sea level, guarantees the regional standards of arabica coffee with an assigned Strictly High Grown grade. The high standards established for Nicaraguan coffee is a testament to the quality-over-quantity mindset of smallholder farmers in the north. A small proportion of the beans come from the south, where hotter temperatures, lower altitudes, and improper processing often result in third-grade beans.

Because the harvest season on plantations in Matagalpa and Ocotal ends by April, the coffee cherries I inspected in July were still green and ripening. What we know as the “coffee bean” is the two, bluish-green seeds (endosperma in Spanish) that grow into a flat shape inside the coffee cherries. Typically, farmers at high altitudes pick from January to March. Different arabica varieties have specific lifecycles for reaching maturity, thus affecting the time to reach peak flavor. The slow maturation of arabica makes it a difficult match for the demands of a global market.

At the intersection where old disciplines and new realities collide, Nicaraguan producers are adapting to climate change with the vision to innovate and safeguard the arabica species.

Taking Roots

Spaniards introduced the coffee plant to Nicaragua from Haiti in 1796 as an ornamental and the basis for an exotic drink. By September 1848, the first nationally produced coffee was exported to Mexico from Jinotepe in southern Nicaragua. The next decade marked the rule of the “Thirty-Year” Conservative government (1857–1892), during which time the government shifted coffee production northward. Brutal subjugation of the Indigenous peoples ensued in the department of Matagalpa as the government forcibly took over Indigenous Cacaopera lands to expand coffee production. The fiercest Cacaopera uprising occurred on August 18, 1882, and resulted in the decimation of their communities via governmental repression, summary executions, and forced migration. On large coffee estates founded by European and North American immigrants, indentured labor from these Indigenous populations became the backbone of the industry.

In the 1940s, a rise in coffee prices led to governmental policies endorsing coffee-growing activities. Descendants of the Indigenous Americans and Europeans (mestizos) took advantage, gradually taking pockets of land for cultivation. Nowadays, coffee trucks drive roads built on the labor of oppression to make way for their economic prospects. Despite its status as a cash crop, the reality of growing coffee is far more bitter than sweet for many small producers, as they grapple with rising costs and unpredictable challenges.

Unbeknownst to millions of coffee consumers, when global prices plunge, small producers suffer in droves. Most of the smallholders I interviewed rely on family members and hired hands from the local community. The rising costs of cultivation, alongside unpredictable economic and climatic circumstances, can kill communities.

Arabica or Robusta?

Global temperatures are increasing, and arabica is not holding well against the heat. In 2006, producers in the southern Caribbean region began planting another major species: robusta (Coffea canephora). Generally grown at sea level using low-cost methods, robusta carries climate-resilient and heat-resistant traits. Northern producers hoped to ban its cultivation, as the species’ inferior taste notes would damage the reputation of Nicaraguan coffee worldwide, calling it suicidio productivo (productive suicide). Nonetheless, the government pushed robusta, hoping to stimulate the economy. Since rising global demands and temperature changes are now hurting arabica output, robusta is emerging as a candidate for saving the coffee industry.

Instead of purchasing export-quality arabica, Nicaraguans source cheap instant coffee made from third-grade beans and robusta from local markets. The average Nicaraguan earns a meager $213 per month—the lowest of all Central American countries. On my travels between cities, I noticed that vendors near transport hubs sold a packet of Presto instant coffee for two córdobas (5 cents, in U.S. dollars). Large thermoses found in local markets keep robusta coffee fresh. In the drowsy heat of midday, the bitter, strong taste provides a pick-me-up to the working class. Although roasting coffee at home is a tradition, Nicaraguans in the north have less and less time for hand-making coffee.

This is where Edgar Arguello draws the line. He’s the third-generation coffee producer of the Finca El Socorro estate and considers coffee a delicacy, not a fuel. “When you buy good coffee on the streets, it never goes sour,” he said. “When the quality is bad, people add sugar to mask the harsh flavors.” For Arguello, adding milk or cream to fine coffee, a Western concept, impedes the taste. Instead, Nicaraguan coffee should arrive hot and black. While in the country, I saw cream and sugar only in high-priced tourist cafes.

Guarding Coffee at Home

Edgar’s family home at Finca El Socorro is located in a vast pocket of arabica, grown alongside crooked oaks and bay cedars stretching for the sky. To him, every harvest on the farm is a labor of love from his generation to every other. His mother endearingly calls him camisa sudada (sweaty shirt) because he’s always working in the fields. When we discussed coffee, he would burst with enthusiasm, his cheery voice shaping the faces of workers and family members. As we walked, he peppered me with questions to make sure I followed what he was saying. When I answered correctly, I saw his eyes, beneath his straw hat, brim with delight.

Since the 70s, Finca El Socorro has produced two arabica varieties, caturra and bourbon, and in 1990, Edgar became the third generation of his family to run the farm. One rainy afternoon, he took me in his red Toyota truck down to the city center, a place covered in mist. As he also runs a dairy farm, we traveled with a large metal cylinder in the backseat filled with fresh milk and a measuring cup. He delivered to his loyal customers but also hoped to tempt the neighbors. My job was to keep track of the cups sold. He told me that despite the tourists who visited Matagalpa for its coffee, his family couldn’t survive on coffee alone.

On the day of my visit to Edgar’s plantation, it rained again. The truck fought hard to climb the mossy hill. He cut the engine, and we continued on foot. We cut through the Apante Mountains, a nature reserve, and I began to notice the coffee shrubs along the path. Edgar made brief stops to pick up litter and tuck it into his back pocket. He led me to appreciate the sounds of the wild. Midway through my questions, he would ask me to listen for the monkeys chattering in the damp woods. He told me it made no sense to fight nature. The overgrown trees above our heads block the sun and prevent higher coffee yields, but he has no plans to chop them down.

Working with Nature

On my trip, I learned that a farmer can never take too many precautions. The changing microclimates in Nicaragua force farmers to play the probability game. “Even if I do everything perfect, from the point of view of agriculture,” Edgar said, “I still have that variable: water.” It was a decisive factor for Edgar to grow coffee in conservative amounts, because too little or too much precipitation could ruin his harvest. What unites farmers in the northern region is their ability to withstand the damages brought forth by nature. 

In 2020, Hurricane Iota became the strongest ever to hit Nicaragua, followed two weeks later by Hurricane Eta. Due to warming ocean and air temperatures, they became the first two storms above category 3 to strike the Atlantic region in a single November. The two hurricanes damaged more than 3,400 hectares (13 square miles) of coffee farms in northern Nicaragua, hitting the producers with great economic losses.

Santos Rodriguez, the owner of another specialty-grade farm, Finca La Esperanza in Ocotal, spearheaded efforts to nurse the flooded soil system back to health. The organization planted new plants while plucking out dead roots. “The soil took three years to recover,” Santos says. “The root system is like the human mouth. It’s the most important organ of the plant because it allows them to uptake nutrition. If you’re healthy, your body will fight.”

Working with his father, Silvio, Santos has decided to expand production at Finca La Esperanza to increase quality pre-roast green bean exports abroad. He is excited by innovative growing practices. His expertise allowed me to explore the plantation the way he sees it. I would often ask him how growers identify plant strains. To me, the edges of the plant blades and coffee berries looked identical. But at second glance, I realized that their size and shape differ from one variety to another, as do their rates of growth.

Throughout the year, the Rodriguez family monitors their plants for coffee diseases, a widespread problem in Latin America. If plants develop orange dots, or chlorotic lesions, that is a sign of the fungus known as leaf rust (la roya). Chemical treatments are available, but nothing beats a healthy soil foundation. In 2012, an outbreak ravaged Latin America. “It was like COVID for coffee plants,” Santos said. “And there was no cure.” Nicaraguan producers brainstormed ways to handle the crisis and found that the best protection for seedlings was to locate them in higher altitudes, the most suitable microclimate for planting.

The Economical Choice

Unlike Santos and his push toward wider production, Edgar, of Finca El Socorro, determined to cultivate on a small scale. In 1999, when his father was still working with him, a coffee crisis loomed over Latin America. As coffee became a globalized commodity, growers in Southeast Asia began to gain dominance. Vietnam grew to be the world’s leading producer of robusta, initiating arabica’s downfall. The oversupply of robusta devalued arabica’s price, destabilizing the Nicaraguan labor sector.

Edgar remembered that time as a period of major hardship. “My father told me, ‘Don’t do anything. Just clear the coffee plots. The price is too low.’” By 2001, the ensuing effects of the crisis left many Nicaraguans unemployed. Coffee producers could not afford to pay them.

As we left the rugged paths of the plantation, Edgar addressed the difficulties of accepting a loan from the bank. Even if the weather forecast called for an 80 percent chance of rain, Edgar saw the 20 percent possibility of a dry spell as too great a risk.

“Last year, the arabica coffee price was 240 cents per pound,” he said. “Right now, it’s 180. If I go to the bank right now and they give me $200,000, and I expand production like my brother wants me to, like adding fertilizer to the soil, profits won’t come in until twelve months later.” He paused to shake his head. “How am I going to start paying back the bank? I heard stories before where other farmers lost their farms. What if you don’t produce enough? Banks are businesses, and they want their money back.”

His decision to be risk-averse is about safeguarding his family and the stability of the operation. It included a promise not to genetically alter the caturra and bourbon varieties that his grandfather first grew in 1940. He produces “little to nothing” compared to bigger productions, he admitted, but he emphasizes quality over quantity, arabica’s better taste.

“Let’s say, bourbon and robusta, they have a son [Timor Hybrid],” Edgar explained. “That son is less affected by the roya disease. So, if you get that son and cross it with robusta again, that’s even less susceptible. But more robusta, less flavor. To fight the disease, you’ve lost the flavor.” The age-old skills necessary to develop the arabica flavor profile don’t allow for blending with robusta. To farmers like Edgar, arabica’s more complex flavors are worth fighting for.

Coffee as a Global Commodity

When I arrived at the offices of Caravela Coffee in Ocotal, capital of the Nueva Segovia Department, rows of raised drying beds covered by thick, protective sheets from the rain caught my eye. Caravela purchases specialty green coffee in Latin America and exports its worldwide. Ana Sofia Narváez Salgado, then the company’s relationship builder for Central America and Mexico, shared with me their meticulous process. Her commitment to her colleagues and the producers around Ocotal brought infectious energy to the air.

“Producers may bring in ten to sixteen bags depending on the farm size,” she said. “From every bag, we take a few grams for a sample. The idea is to get a feel of the lot. It helps us analyze defects for damaged beans or if they’re infected by fungus.” Sometimes, tossing and turning the beans is more damage control than inspecting for quality. After drying the beans, Caravela sends them to companies who roast them to the golden-brown color we are familiar with.

When I asked Edgar about Caravela Coffee, a global corporation, he was unaware of its presence. For smallholder producers, finding a fitting middleman to process and export their coffee requires plenty of phone calls and trust-building. Despite his diligence in exporting to well-respected roasters, he admits his disappointment with the market. “Sometimes, even though you produce a very good coffee, it gets lost because they use it for mixing,” Edgar said. “Coffee is like wine or whiskey. You have to learn how to taste it, and it’s an acquired taste.” Regardless of the producers’ opinions, they generally have no say over the roasters’ intentions regarding final blending.

As Edgar mentioned, customers get bored of existing blends. Throughout my journey through the varieties of arabica, producers I met clearly understood their taste differences. I began to understand beans as an ingredient, not the final beverage we purchase at the store. When Edgar visited his sister in Washington state, he watched firsthand the procedure of mixing varieties of arabica with species like robusta. Although the drinks were different from how he prepares them at home, he understood their appeal. Producers like him understand that such creativity means a larger market for their beans.

Return to the People

The chase for excellent coffee worldwide relies on marketing strategies and new blends that leave an impression. But when will the working class in rural Nicaragua enjoy best quality arabica? Looking for the best is relative for the locals. For well-off Nicaraguans in the north, traditions stay as they are because drinking a cup of black coffee at home is an immersive experience. Even if the better coffees are chosen for export, what remains is flavorful.

“Coffee is to Nicaraguans as tea is to the Taiwanese,” Amanda Rodriguez, the country manager of Caravela Coffee, said—to my surprise, making an analogy to my country of origin. “Sometimes in Nicaragua, we joke around and say that they gave you coffee in the bottle when you were a baby. People introduce coffee to kids at a really early age, like three years old. One of their first meals could be coffee with bread,” Amanda claimed. When I asked about the flavor of the bread, Amanda and Ana Sofia, who was also on the Zoom call, responded together: “Sweet—and also cookies.” Growing up, Ana Sofia’s grandmothers brought green coffee beans back from the market to roast in their kitchens.

Near the end of my visit to Finca El Socorro, one of Edgar’s employees’ wives, Gloria, demonstrated how to roast green coffee beans. Traditionally, Nicaraguans use a comal, a round, flat iron griddle. Gloria tossed and turned the beans over crackling firewood. Edgar could not hide his excitement, seeing the green beans growing brown and varnished in an aromatic coat of oil. Smoke rose through the chimney and from the open windows. Its strength hooked the nose immediately. Flowery, citrusy, and chocolatey notes burst into the air.

The master taster at Caravela’s Nicaraguan office, Marcela Espinoza, is particularly adept at describing flavors. A reliance on sensory memory is integral to evaluating a coffee’s profile by fragrance of the dry grounds, aroma of the brew, acidity, taste, body, aftertaste, and balance. Evaluation is subjective to one’s lived experience. “For example, I might say the coffee tastes like green banana, but you might say astringent. We are feeling something along a similar spectrum, so we don’t always expect people to say the same thing.” Once consumers tag the Nicaraguan arabica coffee with a specific taste, it forms vivid mental images that stay with them.

“There’s a lot of wisdom behind growing coffee,” Ana Sofia said. “It’s science, but there are so many things that need to happen for quality to exist. The producers will continue to do their best.” It’s also about producers embracing the humility to learn new farming practices and passing the knowledge onward as instructors to the community. Since her father also planted coffee, Ana Sofia doesn’t want others to perceive her decision to commit to the coffee industry because of her family. For her, it was a choice. Like many vibrant voices working in the industry, coffee production in Nicaragua will continue to be a push and pull between ideals of traditions and demands in the market.

In 2023, robusta production surpassed 100,000 60-kilogram (130-pound) bags in Nicaragua. Producers situated in hotter climates are striving to improve robusta quality and subvert its stigma as a “lesser species.” The clock is ticking before suitable microclimates for arabica start to disappear. As robusta is cheaper to grow and withstands erratic weather conditions, some producers hope to cultivate a quality robusta. When robusta is processed with more care and effort, it moves toward the superior performances of specialty arabica. What happens if one day robusta becomes as good as arabica? With the roots of coffee running so deep in the heart of Nicaraguans, producers are not giving up on their favored variety.

In 1988, Hurricane Juana ripped apart the family home that Edgar’s grandfather built. From across the road, Edgar looks at the remnants of their torn-apart home and the one his family has rebuilt. The family always regained their footing regardless of the natural disasters that strike Nicaragua.

When it comes to coffee, “to give up is a failure,” Edgar says. “If I start growing something else, it means I failed as a coffee grower. So, all my family and tradition will end with me. I’m the guy who couldn’t do it.” Edgar admitted that it’s difficult to sustain the plantation, but he continues going to work. “I would rather have bad times economically than quit. It’s like pride,” he paused to find the right word, “and it’s stupid! To do something else, that’s normal, logical thinking. But when you have this tradition, you don’t want to quit.”

By growing up closely with coffee, Edgar is aware of its dangers and unpredictability. Yet, he chooses to work with nature. He embraces its temper, its casualties, and the cherries it decides to nurture. The vocation behind growing coffee is more powerful than the caffeinated fuel itself. Pride endures.

Ping Yen (Jeff) Tsai is a junior Davis and Bonner Scholar at the University of Richmond and an intern at the Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage. He aspires to bridge biology and design for sustainability initiatives while connecting people through creative storytelling.