Successional Agroforestry. What in the world is that?

That was exactly what I asked myself, sitting in a small café in Puerto Escondido with an espresso in hand that might have been the best I’ve ever tasted. But the bigger question was this: why aren’t more of us asking for this kind of farming from the people who grow our food and the coffee brands we support?

Back in the late 80s, I was studying agriculture at Texas A&M University. Our focus was on efficiency, yield, cost, and waste. We were taught to improve each of those with technology, mostly chemicals, bioengineering, and synthetic fertilizers made from petroleum. One term I never heard of, not even once, was successional agroforestry. It turned out to be a major gap in my education, and something we’ve since made a priority when sourcing coffee.

I stumbled onto this method by accident, while chasing down a great cup of coffee. My wife was off practicing yoga that morning, and I was wandering through town trying to practice my Spanish. I ducked into a small café and ordered an espresso. It was stunning. In my best broken Spanish, I asked where the beans were from and who roasted them.

The barista’s face lit up. He pulled aside a heavy blanket that served as a door, and I immediately smelled the roaster behind it. He spoke quickly and with so much passion that I could not catch every word, but I got the gist. He showed me every part of his drum roaster and explained why it mattered. There were notes scribbled on the walls, a notebook full of past mistakes, and his well-worn thermometer, hydrometer, and scale. Each tool had a purpose. Every roast was an experiment built on the one before it. 

I thought the tour was over. He paused, took a breath, and then launched into the part he really cared about: how the coffee was grown. 

This was not a massive plantation. These beans came from a small cooperative deep in the cloud forests of the Sierra Madre Occidental. There, farmers grow coffee using a method called successional agroforestry. What surprised me most was how familiar it felt. Many of the farmers we work with already follow these same principles.

Here’s how he explained it:

·       First, they plant pioneer species. These fast-growing ground covers help build up the soil and prepare the land for more complex plants.

·       Next, they add layers. Once the ground is healthy, they plant things like taro, then small trees and shrubs like coffee and kava. As those mature, they make room for larger trees like breadfruit and avocado. Eventually, tall palms form a canopy of natural shade. 

·       Each plant is chosen with a purpose. Some fix nitrogen in the soil. Others help retain water or attract pollinators. Every layer supports the next.

·       Over time, the farm becomes a closed-loop ecosystem. Nutrients cycle back into the soil. Water is conserved. Birds, insects, and native species return. The land does not just survive; it thrives.

 He also described how they use burros to haul loads while naturally fertilizing the plants. Leftover pulp from the cherries is fed to worms in a large-scale composting program. The beans are washed and pulped using water-powered equipment that does not rely on the grid. Nothing is wasted. Every decision supports the land.

Two espressos later, I had to stop him. My head was full, and my Spanish was running thin. But as I listened, I realized these weren’t foreign ideas. They echoed the values we hold at Truebrew. Letting the ecosystem guide the process, building healthy soil, supporting biodiversity, and growing coffee with deep respect for the land. Back home, our roasters bring that same mindset to every batch. We take our time. We adjust carefully. And we work to bring out the true character that begins on the farm and ends in your cup.

That morning in Puerto Escondido didn’t change what we believe. It confirmed it: coffee grown with care, roasted with intention, and shared with people who value how it was made. That is what Truebrew stands for.