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DRIVING WILL BE at a minimum today—thank goodness. After a total of 16 hours in the car yesterday, our backs need a break from the rocky roads. We'll spend all of today at Fero, and from the looks on everyone's faces as we congregate over breakfast, we're excited. Almost every single thing we eat at Aergash is grown on the property: vegetables from an impressive garden, animals for the nightly meat dishes, eggs, grains, fruit, and of course our morning coffee is harvested from plants growing nearby. There's an almost indescribable connection with the country as we take these meals, and on this morning, it's sunny and cool, so we eat outside overlooking the land that raised the food on our plates. Then we're off to Fero, a two-mile drive from Aregash. We walk comfortably through the gates, waving to some of the people we met on our second day. School has just let out for the morning, and again, we are surrounded by children who want to talk and touch. We wander through the nearby plots of land, none bigger than two hectares. When Andrew finds a suitable place to film, the process of readying the spot is time consuming: There is the wait for the producer to be ready for filming, then a long conversation with our translator about how this is going to go. The children squeal and laugh, and the elder co-op members shush them, and herd them out like a band of billy goats. When the producers who are interviewed are asked what they desire, what they don't have that they want, they say, "Nothing, God is good, my family is healthy, what more could I want?" again and again and again. I feel protected here, and the parts of Ethiopia I have seen share that sense of safety. The people we meet are happy to see us, proud to show DAY 4 60 barista magazine From le : The head of the Fero co-op talks with Awgichewu Kebede, our translator, and Jonathan Robinson, who is here in Sidamo with his business partner and sister, Sarah, to purchase coffee. The Robinsons' company, Bean There, has been buying coffee from Fero since 2009. us their lives. When we stop to film outside the house of a woman producer and her family—12 members in all, ages ranging from well, old (most don't know their birthday), to babies—I am so enamored with the structure's sturdy walls created out of pounded manure and grass solid enough to stand for decades, I ask if I may see the inside. I promise not to take photos; I am simply curious. She doesn't mind, she doesn't even care about the camera. Inside, the two-room house is spotless, its dirt and woven-grass floor swept clean; this is where the family and many friends spend their days. On the wall is a photo of the woman at her wedding; she is smiling brilliantly. It's the only adornment in the room. The back space, about half the size of the front room, is where the family sleeps and where food is prepared. The mats upon which they sleep are piled neatly in a corner, and water boils in a dented jebina for coffee. The whole house smells like cut grass. We return to Aregash for lunch and talk for hours over beers before getting up to return to Fero, this time to the buying station. Perhaps the beers contribute to everyone's desire to ride back to Fero on top of the Land Cruisers, rather than inside them. As we make our way toward the buying station, Sarah—with her vibrant red hair, shouting greetings and waving her hands—mesmerizes the village people, who come running out of their houses to see this strange parade. Countless children run after our trucks, some all the way to the buying station and by the time we climb down from the cars, there are hundreds of them.