For the past two years, they have been asking for a treehouse in the back yard.  There were two problems with this:  First, we had a newborn, and although he would have loved quality time with his brothers up in the treehouse, I didn’t necessarily think the responsibility level of 2 and 4-year old siblings was quite at the level of trustworthiness.

Second, admittedly I would have been in over my head with a project of that magnitude.  Although I studied engineering in college, I am not what you would call a handyman.  Sure, I could probably sketch out a design with the best of them, but when it comes to yielding a saw and drill, I’m not sure I’m the one you want to trust doing that…

Fast forward a few years, and I arrived at the conclusion that every little boy needs a treehouse in his backyard, if at all possible.

And so I made a promise to my boys this spring:  The treehouse will be built this summer.

I still didn’t really know how I would do it, but I knew that I needed to do it—for them and me.  I needed something that would challenge me in a way that would test my resolve, my patience, and my follow-through.  I needed my boys to know that when Dad promises something, it gets done—despite fatigue, heat, and the lack of know-how.  I needed to know that I have the ability, dedication, and perseverance to tackle a project despite those same conditions of fatigue and a lack of expertise.

And so, we began building the treehouse a couple of weeks ago.

It has been incredibly taxing, physically, mentally, even emotionally as my patience with a saw, chisel, drill and socket wrench has been tested continually.

But yesterday, my boys and I all sat up on the “floor” of the treehouse—8 feet above the yard.  It was as sturdy as can be, and the boys were downright giddy at being up with Dad in the treehouse.

We’re not done, mind you—we still have the walls, the roof, the trap-door and ladder to build.

But we’ve made progress—progress that can actually be realized, climbed upon—progress which is tangible, even in the eyes of a few young boys.

I see this as a metaphor…

My journey with Wild Goose started off with ideals—lofty ideals—such as using money from the sales of coffee to provide food for people in their own community.

It was something that I felt was a great idea, but if I were honest with myself, would admit that I was in over my head, that it was hard, tiring work, and that I lacked the know-how to run a business in a pioneering way.

But at the same time, I knew I had to do it.

And now, Wild Goose is being built, one floor plank, one 2 x 4, at a time.

And to be perfectly honest, now is when I feel my resolve tested more than ever.

The commitment to donate a certain amount of money per pound sold has been tested.  It has been tested when bills come due, when international coffee prices increase, when I want to take my family out to dinner but we don’t have the budget for it.

I suspected something like this would happen, and it has.  It’s only the beginning of this kind of testing, mind you, but it’s still there, and it’s quite tangible.  As our volume has increased, so have our donations.  And writing larger checks is both deeply gratifying and terrifying at the same time.  It can be easy sometimes to lose sight of what that larger check means for people in my community—if I’m not focused, diligent, and careful, I might be tempted to see a larger check for food donations as simply one more line-item in the “expenses” column.

But this is where the promises come in.

This is precisely why I had to build the treehouse.

Because promises are so easily swept aside and exchanged for something easier, something more convenient.  In a world where cynicism reigns supreme, I want to be an agent of change, if for no other audience than my precious boys.  I want to be an agent of change in my own heart and soul as well, proving to myself that I can make a promise and fight against the dark voices that whisper to back out, to modify the promise, to opt for the easier route.

And so I build the treehouse, and the company, on a promise.  An unwavering promise that, due to my own humanity, is tested.  But that same humanity is what compels me to fight, to hang on, to persevere.

It might mean measuring another cut for a floor plank in one scenario, while in another writing a check to a food bank even amidst the growing uncertainty of an economic climate that is not particularly conducive to growing a business.

When all the voices say to pull back, to be more fiscally conservative, to keep more in the company coffers, I counter by saying that good things are not built unless they are built for others.

For it is the thrill of my boys climbing up into an unfinished treehouse that propels me forward.  It is knowing that they are anticipating the day the treehouse is finished, looking forward to that moment with much excitement.  But they are also enjoying the journey of building this together, knowing that they have a Dad who is keeping his promise, even if that Dad is quietly battling demons of self-doubt, selfishness, and fatigue.

But it is the fight against these very things that grows us all stronger, binding us in the unified cause of building something worthwhile, motivated by the sheer delight of those who get to participate.

It is perhaps the most worthwhile fight, and so I fight on, amidst the uncertainty, in spite of the inner demons, in spite of the self-doubt.

Because, after all, nothing worthwhile is supposed to be easy, right?

And it’s all been worth it.

What had been a year’s courtship with a Probat L12 coffee roaster has finally come to fruition—this beautiful machine has found itself a home here in Redlands, in a warehouse near the airport.  (Rumor has it, the Steinbeck Family Trust is thinking of renaming Sessums Dr. “Brewer’s Row”, in homage to new neighbors, Hangar 24 Brewery and Wild Goose Coffee.)

So, what had already been an incredible journey, has now become the Prologue.

The Prologue saw a coffee company started with the mission of using coffee as a vehicle to help others—whether at the coffee farm, or those in our local community.

The Prologue saw stories of a coffee company selling fresh-roasted coffee and espresso at Market Night, the Redlands Bike Classic, and the University of Redlands graduation.

Over 28,000 pounds of food were provided to families in the Inland Empire, thanks to the Prologue.

2 villages in Burma (Myanmar) were provided water filtration systems, thanks to the Prologue.

Farmers all across the globe were given fair wages for their labor, as a result of coffee sold during the Prologue.

The Prologue is not about Wild Goose Coffee Company.  The Prologue is about you and me, partnering together, using our resources to create a better world for others.

And now as we turn the pages into Chapter One, a most exciting story is being written.

Imagine the good that can be done with a roaster capable of providing the highest-quality coffee to a thousand different cafes, marketplaces, churches, restaurants, and office buildings.

Imagine the good that can be done with a growing network of coffee farmers and roasters, pooling resources to ensure that our economic impact at the farm level is felt and impactful, providing a better life for others in countries that are desperate for help.

Imagine a coffee that sets the standard for quality and philanthropic impact, in each and every batch roasted.

I believe it can and will be done.  I believe Chapter One is being written, in collective effort, by you and me.  As we share the joint journey of Wild Goose Coffee with our colleagues, our favorite restaurants and cafes, our public meeting spaces, together we help write the story of Wild Goose Coffee.

Thank you for partnering with us in the journey; as we turn more pages in this chapter, may much good result…

I am humbled by your continued support,

Nate

20,000 pounds.

It just sounds like so much food, I guess because it is, and it’s really surreal.

I remember the thrill we had when the Redlands Daily Facts interviewed us during the Christmas season in 2008.  I was so excited to report that we had donated over 200 pounds of food to Joseph’s Storehouse at the time.

In fact, it was newsworthy enough to warrant front-page mention for us and our company.

But as I fast forward almost two years, to think that this crazy notion of running a business with the primary aim of benefitting others above itself has yielded over a hundred times the initial amount is truly humbling.

equals

It would not have happened without the faithful support of all of our coffee-loving community.  It would not have happened without individuals who resonated with our mission and spread the word; indeed, we have never advertised.  Not even once.

It would not have happened without a dedicated team of volunteers, without whom any of this would have even remotely come to being.

I am struck with a mix of emotions ranging from excitement, pride, fulfillment, but mostly humility.

I could not have imagined that, two years ago as I was effervescing about our 200 pound mark, that we would hit this milestone so soon.  I feel almost silly about the excitement I had with so “small” a number back then.

I can’t help but imagine where we will collectively be two years from now.  I can’t help but imagine how giddy I’ll feel when we’ve hit the 200,000 pound mark, reminiscing about how significant 20,000 pounds felt.

But for now, I will celebrate, and I hope you will too.

For this wouldn’t have happened without you.

Thank you.  Let’s celebrate together, enjoying the satisfaction of 20,000 pounds of food, and let’s dream together, sharing the hope of 200,000 pounds.

I am truly humbled to be in partnership with all of you on this most incredible journey…

20,000 thanks.

So…

The decision I’ve both been yearning for and dreading has finally been made.  It was one of those that I had been pondering for months, reading the signposts, and genuinely wrestling with the decision, wanting so bad to make it at the right time, for the right reasons.

But then a minor medical incident started forcing my hand, where some bizarre occurrence with a tooth’s root and the wall of my sinus membrane prohibited me from lifting heavy objects, among other commonplace activities such as blowing up a balloon, blowing my nose, and picking up my kids for the entire summer.  I’ve definitely stayed away from the balloons, but I’m willing to blow out my sinus in exchange for picking my kids up, hugging them tightly, and wrestling with them on the floor.

Which probably contributes to my constant pain in the area; a trade-off I will make a hundred times out of a hundred.

So, reluctantly perhaps, and certainly under predictions I would never have conjured, we are taking a hiatus from Market Night for the summer certainly, and possibly longer, perhaps even indefinitely.

If I’m honest, we’re all a little glad to have a break; we’ve been at it for almost two years straight now, with perhaps a total of three nights off for varying reasons.  I know the crew certainly is glad to have the freedom that comes with the unexpected relief from a longstanding commitment.

And it has been that commitment that has been the most beautiful thing, and the thing that I focus on in this moment of mixed emotions for me.  For when a group of people join in a cause, amazing things happen, and it is nothing short of a miracle that the gang has made it this far with almost no burnout to speak of.  It is clear that their commitment lies far deeper than a personal commitment to me and my desires to get this company off the ground; their passionate embrace of the mission of Wild Goose is what has produced absolute beauty.  It is this passionate embrace that has kept Sean driving out from Riverside every night, staying late to help us load up after a busy night, even though he has to be at work at 7am the next day; Jeremiah coming straight from a day’s work to load and unload the equipment as we arrive at the Market; Mark dedicating hours learning the craft of being a great barista; Joe giving heart and soul and innumerable hours to the work that takes place behind the scenes, from the booth ambiance to the signs to priceless logistical advice; my wife filling in the many (and I do mean many) gaps that I leave behind in my wake.

They all have been to Joseph’s Storehouse, and they all know that the pain, the inconvenience, and the labor that we do for the sake of Wild Goose translates directly to food on someone’s table.  Regularly.

They all see that the fatigue we feel on a Thursday night, doing hours upon hours of hard work without any compensation whatsoever pales in comparison with the stress of the families here in town who don’t know whether they will be able to make their rent payment on any given month, whether dad will have work this week or not, and just how much food little junior will get to eat this night.

Things like this help us all to see things a little differently, which is precisely why we have all been to Joseph’s Storehouse.  There is something about seeing others who have so little, and not only being moved to compassion, but being moved to action, that compels these guys to follow some crazy guy in his mission to build a better coffee company.

It truly is a remarkable thing when people put their creative energies into a cause they believe in; I hope this is only the beginning of a very large movement of people in this country who take their beliefs and put hands and feet to them, regardless of the personal sacrifice.

Because it is worth it.  One hundred times out of a hundred.

And so, one might naturally ask whether we will continue with the Market.  And the answer is, I honestly don’t know.  And that, if I’m honest with myself, invokes a flood of fearful emotions: what will people think, will they think we’re quitters? will we even be missed? will Wild Goose fizzle out quietly like a well-shaken but neglected soda?

But when I confront those fears, I feel a remarkable peace about it.  For Wild Goose is not Market Night.  It never has been.  Wild Goose is a mission, a cause, and a conviction.  And it is shared by many.

We have always existed to use coffee as a vehicle for doing good in the local and global community, and I am proud to reflect on the impact Wild Goose has made to date.  An impact that has provided for over 17,000lbs of food in a very short amount of time, along with help for a university vegetable garden, and some water filters for tsunami victims in Myanmar (our first project).

And the exciting news is that this is only the beginning of the impact Wild Goose will have.

There, I said it.

We are in the process, right now, of purchasing a commercial-sized coffee roaster that will allow us to roast and distribute coffee, up to 10,000lbs per month.  That’s 50,000lbs of food, every month, for the fine folks in our community.  And that’s just the start.  If we’re doing that kind of volume, we’ll have a little extra to do more, much more.

And when I think about this, I admit that it will be a long road until we’re supplying enough cafes, restaurants, churches, and offices to be roasting at capacity, but it is a road that I can see a path down, and the path is exciting and good.  It’s not a paved path, it’s not a well-maintained path, for when has comfort ever really produced character?

But it is a path, and it will be our path.

So, instead of focusing our labor on setting up a portable espresso booth each and every Thursday night this summer, we will be spending our time completing the transaction for this roaster, finding the right warehouse to put it in, and getting accounts.

People will still be able to get our coffee, roasted fresh, on the shelves at Olive Avenue Market here in town.  We’ll still send out our email newsletter with updates on our progress.  We may even still find a way to use the Gooseword on Twitter, for free stuff periodically.

We certainly aren’t going away!  It’s more like we’re in the beginning part of a really good book, and we’re pausing for reflection before we pick it up again.  And when we do pick it up again, it may look different to us, it may look similar, but its story will continue.

And it will continue in ways that are unexpected, glorious, and wonderfully philanthropic.  And it will continue as a story that is played out by committed characters, all of us sharing a role, whether those roasting the coffee, or those purchasing it and enjoying it; we will all share in the journey that is Wild Goose Coffee, using our love for coffee and our love for doing good, grinding them together and pouring them into a most delicious cup…

I started Wild Goose with philanthropic interests in mind:  helping the needy, using our coffee as a vehicle for good, etc.  It has been an amazing journey of social enterprise; that strange balance between philanthropy and capitalism that can drive even the most honest-hearted person mad…

So I finish the final numbers from our espresso bar at yesterday’s University of Redlands graduation, and the only numbers I’m seeing are the bottom line profits.  And they aren’t nearly what I had hoped for; I was expecting to exceed last year’s numbers by a decent amount, and for some really basic reasons, we didn’t meet those goals.  I chalk the lesser numbers this year up to a learning experience, so no harm done.

But when people ask me how the graduation went, my first instinct is to talk about the profit numbers.  Because in a small business trying to grow, the profit is really important.  No profit, no business.  No business, no philanthropy.

The profit is modest, mind you (quite modest, at best), and it is all going toward paying off some equipment, and not a family vacation (which would be well-deserved, mind you), so please don’t misread my honesty as greed, just humanity.

Back to the confession:  When people ask how the event went, I find myself gravitating toward a numbers game, or a recollection of when it was busy, when it wasn’t, etc.  I tell them how much I appreciate my crew, how much fun we all have together; that making a latte shouldn’t be this much fun, but hanging around a group of people like we have in the Wild Goose crew is truly an honor and a privilege.

But internally, it was all about the bottom line, especially in the aftermath of a day that started at 5am and didn’t end until midnight; in my exhaustion I wanted to see what Wild Goose benefitted directly from all of our toil.

But the line just above the bottom line on my spreadsheet, the one labeled “Donations”, is just as noteworthy as the one after it, probably more.

It took my wife to point out (or rather, remind me) what was really important.  Realigning my perspective with a quick motion to the “Donations” line, she exclaimed a cool wow! that’s a lot of food, and that money will go far!
I had the opportunity to reflect tonight, while sitting in church, hearing about the difference between “work” and “burdens”.

Wild Goose is my “work”.  It energizes and challenges me.  Even when we have events that end up completely taxing, I never consider the event itself to be a burden.  It is fun—lots of hard work, but genuinely fun.  Selfishness, focusing on the bottom line, rather, is my “burden”.  It is the single thing that weighs me (and Wild Goose) down.  Given the opportunity to shed the burden of the weekend allowed me, for a moment, to see the work for what it was, without the cloudy lens of profit margins and bottom lines:

We were able to donate 338 pounds of food from the work we did yesterday, alone.

I sat there, picturing just how much food that really is.  Because when it’s a number on an Excel spreadsheet, I fail to see it for what it really is.  But when I picture how many loaves of bread that is, or how many bananas, or mangos, or bags of rice, or complete family meals, I get humbled.  Humbled by how selfish I can be, humbled by my own inability at times to stay focused on the original mission of the company.  Humbled that I would allow a number on the bottom of my spreadsheet to dominate my thinking, thus stealing the joy that comes from truly giving.

In addition to the food, we donated a portion of the proceeds to the University’s Community Service Learning program.  100% of that money generated from yesterday’s event will go toward building a community garden, where university students will have the opportunity to learn about sustainability, and a portion of the vegetables from that garden will ultimately end up at Redlands Family Services, another food bank (among myriad other things) in town.

So, not only will yesterday’s events have generated 338 pounds of food in the short term, it will also yield a harvest (pun intended) of sustainable vegetables to another food bank here in town—one that will have its own multiplicative effect for years to come.

And when I think about a single day’s work, a long day, but still a single day, providing over 300 pounds of food right now, and a regenerative source of food for the next several years, I don’t think about the “burdens” of profit or selfishness.

I think about real people, real families, real stomachs aching for real food.

And I picture just how much food 338 pounds really is, and I picture a vegetable garden run by university students, and profit margins fade out of view in favor of a better world, a better town that I’m living in, and unburdened rest from a hard days’ work…

Topics include:  Proper espresso extraction, steaming and frothing milk for optimum texture and sweetness, latte art, and drink recipes.

Pictures of Abbott’s latte art coming soon!

This picture was sent to me from a friend who was working at the food distributions at Joseph’s Storehouse on the morning of December 23^rd.

Notice how the line wraps all the way around the parking lot.  What we can’t see is that the people in line closest to the camera still have a long way to go:  They will travel up a ramp and back, equivalent in distance to the far corner of the parking lot you see in the middle left of this picture.

My heart broke when I saw this.  Mixed emotions swelled up inside:  I wanted so badly to help, but was unable to at that particular moment.  I wanted to write something, anything, capturing the emotion of the moment, but that didn’t pan out.  I felt a particular sadness, seeing all of the people who are so desperately in need during this holiday season, and with that, a particular joy at knowing that there was a place in town where these needs could be met.  There was a feeling of sadness that I couldn’t contribute more of my time, more of my resources, more of my energy, and at the same time a satisfaction that I was at least somehow, in some small way, affecting a modicum of change in these peoples’ lives.

I just wish I could do more.  Much more.

My hope, and prayer, for these people during this season, is that they would be afforded the chance to experience joy in some fashion, whether the joyous faces handing them food for the holidays, joy found in the company in line, and joy in the most important commodity of them all: time with family and friends during the holiday season.

I know this line represents only a small fraction of the people in need, right here in our own community.  It is an overwhelming sight, and renders me feeling like I have very little to offer in terms of helping others.

But I think that’s part of the point here:  That I, alone, can only offer so much.  Collectively, however, we can all strive to meet the needs of those who have less than us.  Working together, giving out of our reserve (even if that reserve is seemingly so little), can mean so much for those who are operating without any.

I believe that whatever we have to offer, whether big or small, is effective.  I know we can feel crippled at times, I know the “why bother—I have so little” mentality is so real so much of the time, but my hope is that this holiday season will spark the spirit of giving in all of us, and that the ripples will travel far and wide for the benefit of many who are fortunate enough to be affected.  That a collective “little” will accumulate into much, and that the “much” will be bountiful…

With all apologies to Paul Revere, the talk of the town has been, “One if By Latte, Two if By COE!”

T-Shirts will be available at Market Night and the online store, coming soon!

(Special thanks to our T-Shirt models, who worked endless hours during the photo shoot.  Their patience was better than a successful doctor’s!)

10 FILL MUG WITH COFFEE

20 DRINK COFFEE

30 GOTO 10

(I’m pretty sure that’s the exact code he’s typing in…)

“Why does Daddy always have to do Market Night? I wish he would do Market Night on Saturdays, because at least then we could see him in the morning…”

Sadness.

Lament.

The questions swirl in my mind: Is it worth it? Am I neglecting my children? Am I even a good dad? Should I just stop all of this madness and be home more often?

My wife lovingly, gently, explained to Garrett that ‘when Daddy goes to Market Night, he sells coffee to people. People give him money for the coffee, and Daddy takes that money and gives it to people who don’t have enough of their own money to buy food for themselves and their kids.’

My son, head nodding, intently listening, eyes fixed on her, suddenly recalls the small bag of change he had found earlier in the day. A bag of change that was a bit fuller before he had spent it on a small container of “Slime” that had trickled through his fingers earlier in the evening. A bag of change that was Garrett’s ticket to the happiness that only a new trinket could bring a young child.

A bag of change that meant fun, independence, choices.

“Mommy, when Daddy gets home, can I give him my bag of money so that I can buy some food for the people that don’t have enough food too?”

Tears.

Joy.

Pride.

Maybe it’s worth it after all…